


Domination Centuries 1

by MishMish3000



Category: Draka Series - S. M. Stirling
Genre: Multi
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-04-02
Updated: 2014-04-02
Packaged: 2018-01-17 22:36:54
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 37
Words: 202,118
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1405060
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MishMish3000/pseuds/MishMish3000
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>An alternate history of an alternate history--what if S. M. Stirling's Drakon had happened a little differently? Can a human and a Draka possibly bond, emotionally, or are their worlds too far apart? What happens when you're catapulted into a situation that's mind-bending--how will you cope?</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter One

**Author's Note:**

> This was written as an alternative to Drakon, a book in S. M. Stirling's excellent Draka series. What if things had turned out a little differently? How can humans and Draka bond? Is it even possible? Is life with a little hope better than death with honor? Stirling wrote Gwendolyn Ingolfsson's point of view segments; I wrote Erin's human point of view.

Chapter One

The cable hangs on something, and I tug at it irritably. It feels like I’ve been pulling miles of cable through this ceiling, wiring the office for the network. My arms are tired, and my t-shirt clings to my sweaty body. This Bahamian heat’s something else—the old saying, “It’s not the heat, it’s the humidity” flashes through my mind, and I grin, despite my discomfort. 

Heat or humidity, I’m still sweaty and hot and tired. The smells of fresh paint and newly-cut wood compete with the ocean scent, coming in through open windows and doors. Finally the cable slides through; gotcha, sucker! I gleefully think to myself, and I pull it down from the ceiling, connecting it to the back of the network switch box. 

Even with the bother of the heat, this job for IngolfTech is pretty great, with the pay and all. Peter and I were lucky to see the ad in the Nassau paper for network technicians.

IngolfTech was kind of mysterious, though; last night, I thought I’d take a look at the stars from my apartment’s patio, and while I sat quietly out on the deck, I saw a guard and a dog walk by. Now that’s not too strange, but the fact he was wearing night vision goggles and carrying a slung Barrett sniper rifle was rather intriguing. I mentioned it to Peter, and he wondered, too. Better not take up sleepwalking around here; you might get ventilated. Maybe industrial espionage is really bad here on Andros Island, although I can’t imagine why. 

The whole area’s under construction; groups of Haitian men working on the different buildings all day and into the night. I notice the Bahamian heat doesn’t seem to bother them as much, but I guess being anywhere other than the hell Haiti has become is better… The buildings are sturdy; built on a massive scale out of the local rocks, whitewashed to a blinding state when the outer work is finished. A lot of attention’s paid to the landscaping, too, which is always nice to see. Apparently, the designer’s interested in keeping the natural look; lots of palms and boulders about. The ocean isn’t but a few minutes’ walk away along paths laid into the rocky limestone soil. I love being that close to the ocean. But still, the facility here is really more of a compound than a campus, but Skip Kendrick, our quote unquote manager, insists that we refer to it as a campus. Right, like Bill Gates has guards like what I saw wandering around at night. Skip is a dweeb from hell; purely my opinion, of course, but he is a fly in the ointment, so to speak. The job would be just about perfect if it weren’t for him and his “Book of the Month Club” management techniques.

Thinking of Skip makes me remember Chief Gray, and the Navy. Doesn’t seem like a year has gone by since the honorable discharge, but it has. After getting out of the Navy, Peter and I had decided to give ourselves a six month vacation, and the dart thrown at the map picked the Bahamas for us. Nassau was fun; the snorkeling was fantastic and so was the fishing. Peter enjoyed all the architecture, and the shopping. People always assume –wrongly—that we’re lovers; I’m told we make a cute couple, and it was convenient in the Navy, when we had to be careful about who knew we were gay. We’re best friends; started by being pals on the Nimitz, working together in the Command and Control Center, and we survived her sinking together in the latest of the Gulf wars. It’s funny how saving someone’s life brings you closer. Now we’ve been working together for IngolfTech, setting up the computer information systems for the last six months or so.

My short hair’s definitely an asset with this heat, I think to myself, but my curls are still sticking to the back of my neck. Peter’s inordinately proud of his moustache and long pony tail, and the glossy black color of his thick hair. With his lithe build, they make him look like a clean biker or a well-groomed pirate. All he needs is the eye-patch and a cutlass. I’ll have to tell him that; maybe that’s what he can dress up as for Halloween. I’m much shorter than he is, and stockier; my light brown hair has taken on some pleasing blonde streaks from all the sun and surf I’ve been enjoying. My tan looks pretty good, too; haven’t burned like I usually do. Of course Mr. Pirate never burns; he can step outside for ten minutes and have a perfect tan. Oh, well, I think, and pick up my tools. Time to see what he’s finished with, and time enough to take a shower before dinner.

Dinner, superb as always, so much better than what’s usual at places still under construction, is fresh, grilled orange roughy and salad, and a fine white wine. Afterwards, Peter and I decide walk over to the main house to check on the status of the wiring. It’s the residence of our mysterious boss lady, Gwendolyn Ingolfsson. She supposedly struck it rich on buried treasure a little over a year ago, and now she’s basically bought about half of the island, it seems, and is building a major research center. Some of the buildings look like they’ve been transplanted from Los Alamos or Oak Ridge, to me. Looks like major physics work will be coming soon to Andros Island. The medical facility is pretty massive, too; the doc in charge is some old German fart named Mueller, who acts like he’d be more comfortable in a black uniform and jack boots. Gruff is too nice a word for him. I avoid the old boy as much as possible. I also avoid the head of security, a really scary dude named Dragovic. Probably Serbian, which doesn’t endear him to me much. But he’s not as intimidating as Ingolfsson herself. We met her after our interview with the vice president, Tom Cairstens. She has a presence, an aura, of command; her charisma just about knocks you off your feet. That is, if you’re still able to stand after getting a gander at her looks. I’ve never seen a Greek goddess come to life before, but she sure fits the bill. 

Peter had noticed an ad in the Nassau paper for CIS techs, and since our vacation was almost over, we decided to do the interview for fun. If we got the job, fine; if not, fine too. Our interviewer, Cairstens, was a dish Peter certainly enjoyed looking over; I even noticed he wasn’t too bad looking, myself. Lawyer-type, California accent, possibly “family”. Longish brown hair, good build. Asked a lot of questions and seemed to like the answers. We asked some, too, but didn’t get as many answers. But the salary was nothing to sneeze at, and anything that keeps me near the ocean, and pays well, sounds fine to me. After the interview, we were walking out of the spacious Nassau IngolfTech office and met Ingolfsson herself, as she was coming in. I had to work very hard at keeping my jaw from dropping open; she was absolutely gorgeous. Tall, much taller than I am, taller than Peter, even; muscular without seeming muscle-bound; dark red, almost mahogany colored hair, short on the sides and top, but with a long braid in back. 

She was wearing a silk blouse and slacks, and moved like a ballerina or a gymnast. Her accent, when she greeted us, was Deep South, but with overtones of something European. I had never heard an accent like that in my life, and I’m from Georgia. Tom introduced us, and when she shook my hand, she squeezed just enough to make my eyes go wide. Tremendously strong; much stronger than I’d expected. Her hand felt like velvet-wrapped steel, and her touch was unusually warm. Of course, I realized all this after having time to quaff a margarita, out of her presence. Peter was similarly overwhelmed, and said she was one woman who might actually be interesting sexually. That was as stunning as meeting Gwendolyn Ingolfsson, since Peter has always maintained a 100% man-only thing. Of course, I had certainly had some interesting thoughts about her, myself…

The short walk over to the main house is pleasant in the cool evening; the smell of the ocean’s strong in the background, and the palm fronds squeak softly as a breeze came up. The rambling whitewashed stone-block house was almost done, and I inhale the scent of fresh-cut wood as we walk up to the main entrance. The double doors are open to the night breeze, and I notice the artwork in the glass panels. Now, that’s unique, I say to myself, as I gaze at the black-rimmed outlines of dragons in the glass. There are two, one for each door, and they are tinted faintly red. Their claws hold a knife of some sort, and a set of manacles. Odd, really. A guard is stationed there, who carefully checks our passes before letting us enter. The entrance is absolutely amazing; marble floors and pillars. Pretty darn impressive, I think; it must make an impression on visiting business executives, visiting royalty, whatever. Once inside, we stop, both to enjoy the scenery and to decide where we needed to go first. Voices come up the stairs, and we turn back to the entrance. Gwendolyn Ingolfsson and her pretty young secretary Dolores are coming in; Dolores is loaded with shopping bags from some mighty pricey and exclusive Nassau shops, and grinning at her boss.

How could you not grin at her, I wonder, as I find myself smiling, too. Peter clears his throat, and the two women stop as the guard closes the door behind them.

“Well, good evening, Peter, Erin…” Gwen says, her voice pleasantly deep and musical. Dolores nods, still grinning at some private joke they’ve shared.

“Hi! Um, we came over to check on the status of the wiring work for the network project, to see where we needed to start tomorrow; if this is, ah, inconvenient, we can, er, come back tomorrow or something…” My voice trails off as I become aware that I’m babbling. Oops.

Gwendolyn smiles indulgently, it seems, and puts her hand on my shoulder. “No problem at all, Erin; in fact, I’d like to walk through it with both of you, and perhaps get a rundown on where the entire CIS project is. Please, come into my office, and we’ll talk more.” A squeeze, and the slightest hint of a push toward one of the doors leading off the entrance hall. 

Peter saves the day, saying, “Sure, if it’s not an imposition, Ms. Ingolfsson.” I’m not sure I could talk; all of a sudden my knees feel weak, and I’m intensely conscious of how close Ingolfsson is to me. This is weird, I say to myself. Why do I feel like this? Get a grip, girlfriend!

Two hours later, after what felt like a friendly interrogation by Ms. Ingolfsson, we finally leave the main house. “Hey, Peter, let’s go for a walk on the beach. It’s not too late,” I say, and he nods, preoccupied. 

We walk along the beach, on the sand that’s hard packed by the wave action, listening to the sound of the surf, inhaling the salt scent. It feels refreshing, like my head is clearing. Peter walks next to me, silent for quite some time. Finally, curiosity gets the better of me: “What’s up, dear boy? I’ve never known you to be this quiet for this long. Something wrong?”

In the soft moonlight, he turns to me. “I don’t know. I mean, you’re the intuitive one. But I have a very strange feeling about Ingolfsson, you know?” he says quietly, his voice barely audible above the ocean’s hiss. 

I’m quiet for a moment, considering how to phrase my reply. “I know what you mean. The first time we met her, I was knocked out; now that we just spent two hours alone with her, I’m even more impressed. I’ve never met anyone quite like her. And you know what’s strange?” I pause, palming a shell, looking at it in the moonlight. Not a bad one; but not a keeper. 

Peter shrugs, and I continue. “She doesn’t feel like anyone else. You know how I have feelings about people; she just doesn’t resonate like anyone I’ve ever met. Weird.” 

We turn around and retrace our steps back to the residential area of the compound. “Why not come in for a few minutes? How about a glass of wine?” Peter asks. I got the feeling he really didn’t want to be alone; it was odd, but I was feeling the same way. 

“Sure thing!” I agree, and we enter his immaculate, perfectly decorated apartment. Somehow his apartment (even his quarters on board ship) always looks like something out of a magazine; I always have those magazines in little piles on the floor in my place. And stacks of books, notes, programs…fossils, shells, interesting candles…he says I’m a pack rat, and that my style of décor could be termed “eclectic lesbian”. Oh, well. I settle comfortably into his couch, and he brings over two glasses and a bottle. 

“A whole bottle, Peter?” 

“Sure, why not?” he answers, as he joins me on the couch. “I think we could both use it. Our talk with Ms. Ingolfsson really weirded me out, Erin. I mean, I’ve never really had feelings for a woman before. I can certainly appreciate a good-looking one, of course, but the interest to, ah, get closer has never been there. Now it is, and am I confused! And worried. I mean, if I am so affected, you must be drooling and barely able to walk by this point, girl!” He grins, and hands me a glass of Chardonnay. 

Sipping, I chuckle. “Well, there certainly have been moments when I’ve thought about fainting into those tanned arms, and looking up into those leaf-green eyes…” Peter laughs, and drinks. The bouquet of the wine is soothing, and I sigh, relaxing into the comfort of the couch. 

“The thing about it is, she has so much charisma. That could be really dangerous, if she wants to start a cult or something. We’ll have to stay on our toes. Hopefully she’s not going to do that, but still…she could be very hard to say no to. Right?” I ask. 

He nods, serious now. “The question is, what is she after? With that presence, she could do just about anything. It’ll be definitely interesting to work here, Erin. Interesting to watch. I mean, with the guards, the dogs, the night vision stuff…the physics we think they’re going to be doing…even the medical center. It’s like something a major university would have. Not a little ole medical clinic for workers. Hmmm…” he sighs, and refills our glasses. 

“Well, maybe we’re just not up to date on industrial espionage or something? I don’t know. I mean, three headed mutant creatures aren’t popping out of the walls yet, Peter. Let’s not get carried away,” I reply, grinning. He makes a face at me, and goes to the kitchen, returning with some cheese and crackers. 

“Since I’m getting so girlishly hysterical about it, let’s just decide to sit back and watch things for a while. Speaking of, I got a new movie; want to watch it with me?” he asks. 

“As long as it’s not another Tom Cruise marathon, fine!” I laugh, poking him gently in the ribs. 

He sighs, dramatically, this time, and says, “No, this is a classic—the original The Thing. Ready?” I nod, and turn the lights down after he pops the movie into the VCR.

Later, as I walk back to my apartment, I wonder about our choice of movies. Not very reassuring, given what we’d been discussing earlier. Oh, well, Gwendolyn Ingolfsson didn’t seem to be a mad scientist, or an alien; if she was, she was a darn cute one. At least on the outside, I think. The moon’s settling lower in the sky, and the stars are brilliant. 

I decide to take another stroll by the beach, and then walk home. As I wander, keeping my eyes open for the guards with their dogs and guns, I wonder about all the twists and turns in life that got me to this place. It’s kind of funny, sometimes, if you look at it in the right way. I pause on the beach, looking up into the night sky. The stars are so bright out here, with so little light pollution, and the moon going down. I wander further, not really paying much attention to anything until I stumble on a change in the footing. 

Looking down, I see I’ve trampled someone’s robe and towel. What? At this time of night, to be swimming? There are sharks out there. And it’s so dark in the water, a tiny corner of my mind whispers, and I shudder, remembering. I quickly try to focus on something else, and shake out the sand from the terrycloth robe and towel, and neatly refold them.

I scan the waves, not too high, but with small whitecaps showing, looking for the swimmer. For a long moment, I don’t see anyone, and then I notice a figure standing up out in the surf, shaking its hair, then walking toward me through the surging water. As the figure gets closer, I realize it’s Gwendolyn Ingolfsson. She’s pulling her long hair behind her in a ponytail, and seeing me, grins. 

She’s stark naked. I’m transfixed, unable to look away. This is the most beautiful person I have ever seen, I think to myself, and find my heart’s pounding. Her build is lithe but muscular, with long arms and legs. Her abdomen is ridged in a washboard rippling of muscle, I note, as she walks up to me, the starlight and fading moon light glistening off the beads of water running down her deeply tanned skin. I hand her the towel wordlessly, and her grin widens. “Late night for a beach walk, Erin. Trouble sleeping?”

“No…and it’s a pretty late night for a swim, too, Ms. Ingolfsson! Do you do this very often?” I ask, smiling. 

“Please, call me Gwen. We’ll be seeing quite a lot of each other, so I think first names are fine, don’t you?” she replies, drying herself off. “I enjoy swimming at any time; recently I’ve been so busy this is the only time I’ve had for a dip in the ocean. It’s really quite enjoyable; feel like a swim?” 

Her eyes catch mine; I am sure even though it’s dark she must be able to see my blush. “Um…well, I just don’t happen to have my suit with me, you see; sorry!” I bluster, looking away. 

“Hey, now, it’s just us girls—or haven’t you noticed?” she purrs, eyeing me. 

“Oh, I’ve noticed…I mean, I know; um, I just really don’t like swimming in the dark, especially in the ocean, Ms., I mean, Gwen. Really,” I stutter. 

Since she’s done drying herself, I hand her the robe. She slips into it with a shrug, and thanks me. “You seem to enjoy the pool quite a bit; I’ve seen you there with Peter several times,” Gwen says, folding the towel. 

“It’s not the swimming, it’s that it’s…dark. The ocean is, I mean,” I start, and stop as the memories I tried to squash earlier come roaring forth.

The tingling in my hands and face that grows into a tickle, and then into a raging flaming burning, as the shock wears off and the burns react to the water; the salty bitter taste of blood running down my throat from my broken nose; the slaps in the face from the waves, churning from the turbulence of the ship’s suction as she goes down. 

I remember seeing the lights on the deck vanish as she went under, with people still trying to jump clear. I remember pulling Peter out of the ruins of the CIC, and then going back for Chief Gray. He’s on his back, eyes staring at the overhead, face gray in the red emergency lights. “Get the hell out of here, you damn stupid girl,” he wheezes, blood at his lips looking black in the lurid lighting. I reply, “Not unless you’re with me, you old asshole!” and grasp him by the shoulders. A shrill, girlish scream erupts from his throat, and I immediately put him down. 

“I’m dying, dammit! Get out of here… you heard the orders and now you’re…” he breaks off, gasping, “Now you’re hearing mine. Never liked obeying me much anyway, you dumb computer geek. Get off the ship. Act like a sailor for once, and listen to me. NOW!” He manages to get a tiny bit of his accustomed, feared, and hated roar into the last word, and it takes its toll on him. His eyes roll back into his head, and he slumps, silent. I check for pulse and breathing; there is none. Chief Gray’s died like he lived, loudly. I look around in the blood-red lighting, not hearing the alarm klaxons going off. 

No one else appears to be alive on the deck of the compartment, so I climb back out the hatch, looking for Peter on the chaotic, ruined deck. Everyone stumbling around—we look the same, torn uniforms, burns, open wounds. Shock on faces make them hard to recognize. I see him near a detail of sailors, trying to lower a jerry-built raft. The flames from below decks where the missile strikes had come in are growing larger, reaching greedy fingers through gaping holes in the flight deck. The ship groans, leaning more and more over to starboard. Men and women, running, some terribly burned, screaming…I grab Peter away from the group. His eyes are wide, and blank; he’s in shock. I pull his head down next to mine and yell, “Peter! We’ve got to abandon ship, and that raft ain’t gonna make it. Come with me, now!” 

He nods, dazed, and follows me as I scramble down the sloping deck towards the water. The black water waits, starred with plummeting bodies and falling debris; I slide to a halt, pulling Peter behind me as a F18 breaks its ties and sweeps past us, down into the sea. The swimmers it lands on disappear under the waves with it. The drop looks to be about 30 feet; broken bones, spines, possibly, if we aren’t careful and lucky. “Peter!” I yell. “Peter! Remember your training. Feet together! Hands at your side—come on, we don’t have much time. Peter! Jump!” He looks at me, and then down at the water. “Jump, god-dammit! Let’s go, Peter!” I shove him toward the edge, and what I start, gravity finishes. He flails at first, but when he hits the water he’s in a reasonably good position. I follow, and the water’s temperature shocks me. It seems to knock the breath out of me more than the fall did. I try to scan for Peter, and finally see him splashing helplessly nearby. 

The waves are punches to my face, already sore with the broken nose and burns, but that doesn’t matter. I swim to him, grabbing the back of his neck. “Pet…” I try, and water slaps me, hard, in the face. I swallow a mouthful, tasting salt and oil, and blood. Gagging follows. Finally, I manage, “Peter…it’s me, Erin. It’s okay. Tread water with me. Come on, there’s an inflated raft over this way…” I tug, and pull, Peter along in the water. He’s less than helpful, but I get him to the raft. It’s filled with horribly wounded and burned sailors. 

One sees us coming, and swims over to us. “If you aren’t wounded, hang on to the edge of the raft, now,” he commands. I look into his blackened, gashed face and am stunned to recognize our ship’s XO.

“Sir,” I manage to duck a wave, “Sir, this man’s got a bad concussion. He’s not really very conscious, I think he may have some broken bones, too…” He looks at me, and then at Peter. “Hell, if I had the room, both of you’d be on there…get him aboard. Here, guys, help this sailor up…” Other hands reach down, plucking Peter from the water. 

I hang onto a strap on the side of the raft, and try to orient myself. Destroyers are racing around nearby; I can hear gunfire. The waves rock me, and I feel sleepy. Someone reaches down and slaps me, hard, across the face. “Damn it! That hurts! What are you doing?!?!” I yell, through the pain. 

“Don’t fall asleep, idiot. Fight. Stay alive, sailor. Survive.” 

I look up into the remnants of a face; an eye glitters down at me. It’s a woman’s voice; I wonder who she is. I decide to stay awake to avoid further slaps; I can feel my face begin to swell as the burns blister. I drift, holding onto the strap by running my arm through it. It soon wears raw places on my arm, but that pain is nothing compared to the real pain I’m in. I can hear moans, and screams in the distance; the screams grow fainter and fainter until they are silent. The ship finally slides over into the sea, taking many with it who waited too long to jump, or who couldn’t jump. 

The noise of her descent shocks me, and I briefly wonder if the two reactors were correctly shut down, or if we’re all dead now but just don’t realize it yet. The water is dark…I can’t see anymore; my eyes have swollen shut. If I let go, I will die. So simple an equation, really. I know how dark the ocean was when I last saw it…the sounds of people dying and praying surround me. I don’t know when I am rescued, lifted by caring arms into a cruiser’s cutter. I wake in the brightness and medicinal stench of a burn ward, blearily looking around, wondering where I am…I remember the dark water, though…I remember…

I snap back to the present, and find myself being held by Gwen. Only seconds have passed, but I’m all shaky, feeling the old terror again. I gasp for air, and try to pull away from her. 

She murmurs, “No, child. Stay right here. It’s alright. I didn’t mean to cause you a flashback, now…” She cradles me, and suddenly I’m lifted off my feet. 

“N-n-n-n-oo…” I protest, struggling. I feel helpless, and hate it. 

“Ssssaaaa….girl, it’s alright. Don’t struggle. There’s a pavilion right over here; let’s get you completely back to the present now,” Gwen continues. I suddenly smell a faint perfume, and it sooths me somehow. Despite the remembered terror, my breathing begins to slow, my heart to steady. 

She carries me like I weigh nothing; I’m a stocky 145 pounds on a 5’3” frame. “Please, you’ll give yourself a hernia. There’s no need to carry me, really, Ms., I mean, Gwen!” I say, quietly trying to get loose from her arms. Not only her hand feels like velvet wrapped steel; her muscles move like living steel cables themselves. I’ve done some weight lifting in the past, and been a little pumped myself, but this is ridiculous. She’s so strong….

“Erin, Erin, calm down. I had no idea that pushing you…I mean, that you had such a bad experience in the water at night. Shhh…I won’t get a hernia, don’t worry. Here we are, the pavilion. Let’s sit here and let you get a little settled down now, okay?” 

She sits down, with me still in her arms, sitting in her lap like a kid. 

Her perfume seems stronger; maybe it’s because we’re inside a shelter now. But perfume after swimming in the ocean? I don’t understand, but it doesn’t seem to matter. I feel warmer, almost drowsy. She relaxes her grip a little, and rocks me slightly. I feel my body relaxing, as well, and rest my head against her chest. Her breasts feel good; in fact they feel wonderful against my side. She’s not over-endowed; just right, I think, and then realize what I’m doing and thinking. I blush again, for the nth time today, and look up at her. 

The red headed woman smiles down at me, and says, “Feeling better now, Erin?” 

I nod, and sit up in her lap. It’s sort of embarrassing to be on your boss’ lap, no matter how comfortable it is or how beautiful she is. “I think I’m fine now, Gwen. Really. Please let me down?” 

She grins, and takes her arms from around me. I’m now oddly reluctant to stand up, but I go ahead and do so, since I asked to be free. “Sorry ‘bout that; it hasn’t ever hit me so hard before. It’s been over a year…I should be over it. I’m not a complete nut case, you know…” my voice trails off, terminal embarrassment setting in. 

“I don’t think that of you at all, Erin. I understand, really, I do. No more talks about swimming in the ocean at night; we’ll stick with the pool. How does that sound?” she replies, looking me over. 

“Oh, that sounds fine. Sorry, though…about what happened a few minutes ago. It’s not like me to lose it like that,” I answer. What if she doesn’t understand? Seems like only people who’ve been in combat understand shit like that… I never talk about it with anyone but Peter, and even then, not often.

I turn to look out the pavilion, at the stars. They’re still there, like they were the night the Nimitz went down, like they were a few minutes ago when I inadvertently went at warp speed into the loony zone. My eyes water a bit, and I stifle it. I feel Gwen come up behind me, and she gently strokes my back. Her hand leaves a trail of heat behind it, startling but sensuous. I stifle those feelings too. I mean, good grief, she’s my head employer. My boss.

Gadzooks, I wonder to myself. What a night. I look up to the sky again, to calm down. Keep breathing, slowly. Steadily.

Her silky voice at my ear questions me: “What do you see when you look, Erin?” 

“Do you really want to know, or was that a rhetorical question?” I answer.

“No, really. I think you’re interesting, and I wonder what you think about when you look at the stars. Nothing really rhetorical about that…”

I lean back into the hand that’s caressing my shoulders, and laugh. “Ok, you asked for it, Gwen. What do I think about? I think about stuff like the theory that there’s billions of tiny black holes floating around in the cosmos; I think about the early explorers who set off into the unknown with a map of the stars and faith or hope that they wouldn’t fall off the edge of the earth…” 

I’m quiet for a moment; she waits for me to continue. “I wish I could have been with them, or one of them. What an experience. What a lifetime. Then sometimes, when I look at the moon, I remember that I was convinced, rock solid convinced, that by the time 1999 rolled around, I’d be living on Moonbase Alpha, doing medical research…but that was when I was between, oh, say 9 and 11. I wonder what sunrise is like on Mars, and if we’ll ever keep from blowing each other up long enough to get there…” 

I stop, and turn to her. “That’s what I think about when I look at the stars. And sometimes I wonder if somewhere, there’s not an intelligent life form looking at the stars, wondering like I do if there’s more life out there. Now I’m sure you think I’m batty, don’t you?” 

She smiles, running her hand through my short light brown hair, and shakes her head no.

I continue: “Fair’s fair…what do you think about, Gwen, when you look at the stars?” I secretly want her to continue stroking her hand through my hair for at least an aeon or two. 

Gwen laughs, a rich brass undertone to it, and replies, “What do I think of? Sunrise on Mars for one; earthrise on the moon is another. I remember friends… family… it doesn’t seem so far away sometimes when I stand and look at the sky, and remember…” 

I’m surprised by the tone of wistfulness in her voice. She smiles down at me, murmuring “All of us get homesick sometimes.” I crack my knuckles, nervously, and she frowns. “That isn’t very good for them, you know, Erin…but that’s a-kay…” 

What? “A-kay?” Maybe that’s some European thing, I wonder, and bashfully hang my head. 

“Oh, now don’t think I was, what’s the term, fussin’ at you—I’ve just noticed you tend to do that when you’re nervous. You aren’t nervous, are you, Erin?” 

She moves closer, her hands stroking down the sides of my face. Aaaghhh—is she making a pass at me? What do I do? Help! Peter, maven of making moves, help me! It’s been a long time since I felt so inexperienced. “Um, possibly, a bit, Gwen, um…” I backpedal, going down a step out of the pavilion.

Again, her beautiful laugh transfixes me; I look up at her in the starlight, and note again her resemblance to pictures I’ve seen of Greek goddesses. It’s eerie; it frightens me a little. I’m not used to being around such beautiful folk, or having my back and my face stroked by them, or having them carry me around like a kitten. 

“Um, I think it’s been a long enough day, and I should be turning in now, ma’am,” I manage, still looking up into her face. 

“Yes, bed does sound good, doesn’t it, Erin?” She comes down the steps; at the bottom step, her face is level with mine, and me standing still on the top step. Her eyes bore into mine, and I feel oddly detached, floating. 

“Does that mean what I think—” 

I don’t have a chance to finish as she leans into me, her lips on mine, strong, powerful. Dominant. The heat from her body washes against me, and I feel faint. 

Now don’t go swooning like some goofy chick, I think sternly to myself, and return the kiss. She chuckles, and her arms surround me, holding me against her. Her tongue probes between my lips and I shudder with delight. This is terribly politically incorrect; what would Business Week say about your boss tonguing you on the beach, in the Bahamas, by her mansion? I know what my body says…I think, while I’m still possessed of the upper faculties. 

She sighs, “Wonderful. So sweet…” and kisses me for a longer moment. My knees have turned to water; walking’s out of the question for the time being. My hands link themselves, seemingly of their own accord, behind her neck, and my kisses grow more and more enthusiastic, matching hers. 

This feels so good, oh my God…she’s stroking down my back, caressing my ass, squeezing…she picks me up again, effortlessly, and shushes my gasp of surprise. 

“Bed does sound like an extremely good idea…more comfortable than the beach, really,” she murmurs, kissing me all along my jaw line, down my throat. My left arm goes around her shoulders, my right stroking her hand holding me up. I nuzzle along her throat in return; the perfume scent is stronger, alluring, mesmerizing; all I can think about is Gwen…she growls, softly. 

Part of my mind starts at that; it’s strange, different. But my hormones are raging; I can’t give it more than a nanosecond’s worth of consideration before I’m swept away, into an incoherence of delight that lasts the rest of the night and into the morning…


	2. Chapter Two

Chapter 2

I can hear the ocean; its subliminal roar and hiss fill my ears. I’m too tired to open my eyes, it seems, and I wonder why in the world I slept all night with the windows wide open. I stretch, feeling muscles I didn’t know I had, and roll onto my back. Finally, I manage to prop one eyelid open, and gaze up at the linen-draped iron four poster bed; soft early morning light fills the room, and I smell coffee and fresh bread, getting closer…Wait! Where—I sit up, both eyes open, looking around the room. This isn’t my room, it’s—oh, jeezie petes, it’s Gwen’s; we—

“Good morning, sweetlin’!” Gwen sits down next to me on the bed, wearing nothing but a wide, white smile. “Sleep well, when I actually let you sleep?” She kisses me lightly, and I feel fire run through my veins.

The blush deepens as she strokes the soft hairs along my neck. “I, uh, slept fine, when I did, that is. Good morning, to you, too.” I look up into her face, still as always amazed at its beauty. Her leaf green eyes twinkle with amusement, and she strokes further down, watching me blush and shiver at the same time. We did things last night I’d never thought of, and I thought I was pretty experienced in all this stuff, I think to myself. Mentally, I blush to match the physical one; I never lose control like that, ever—and she had me screaming at one point. Hope the neighbors didn’t hear…

Gwen chuckles. “I’m sure if the neighbors did hear, they were properly jealous…but don’t be so shy. It’s alright, Erin. You were lovely, indeed. Quite a treat.” There’s a soft knock at the door, and a housemaid comes in, pushing a cart loaded with a coffee service and food. “Ah, the morning tray. Here, Erin, some juice?”

She accepts a glass herself, and signals for one more. Gwen turns back, to hand it to me, and finds me buried under the covers, embarrassed. I’m naked, and not used to anyone seeing me that way. She continues, not one bit shy herself about being naked as a jay bird in front of the maid: “A bit late to be shy, sweet girl. As I said, everything’s fine. Here, this will start your breakfast off…”

I accept the juice, sitting up and wrapping the silk sheet with some difficulty around me. Sipping, I glance over the rim of the glass at her, and sputter. The way she’s looking at me makes me think immediately of last night, and her eyes looking down into mine…there’s a hunger that’s undeniable. And I’m worn out; she’s a model of stamina, I think, for sure. Gwen laughs out loud this time, her voice thrilling me. Small, delicious shivers cascade down my back. My god, what a woman…

She says something to the maid, who grins happily and disappears for a moment; she returns with two robes held on her arm, and places them at the foot of the bed. Gwen thanks her in something that sounds like Creole, or Gullah, and the housemaid bobs her head respectfully, almost adoringly. She leaves us to breakfast and the sounds of the ocean below.

I rise, and slip quickly into a robe. I’m no prude, but I’m self-conscious about the scar down my back from the Nimitz sinking. There are still a few tiny scars on my face, and some darker places on my arms from the burns, but the larger scar stands out, ridged and sometimes quite red. It runs from below my left shoulder blade diagonally down my back, ending about two inches from my fanny. Peter calls it my zipper, which of course I appreciate dearly. His scars are all hidden by that luxuriant glossy black hair of his. I should remind him of that sometime when he’s being impossibly cheery. But that’s just Peter.

Gwen smiles and dons the other robe, apparently just to make me feel more comfortable, or to keep my mind on breakfast. We sit at a glass and iron table, looking out onto the ocean through double French doors. Their curtains blow in the breeze, which is fresh and invigorating. This is the ocean that I still love. 

I’m amazed, watching Gwen eat. I thought with a build like that, she’d probably peck a bit, but she’s wolfing down a major breakfast. Croissants, fresh butter, fruit, French toast, sausage, grits, and Johnny cake all disappear after a short stay on her plate. Coffee like I’ve never tasted; it’s very rich and aromatic. Wonder what kind it is, it crosses my mind as I sink my teeth into another (my second) croissant. The bread, so fresh it’s still almost too hot to eat, smells wonderful. I inhale, just enjoying the physical sensations. Maybe she’s just got a really high metabolism, I wonder. After a few moments of concentrated eating, she sighs, folds her linen napkin, and pours another cup of coffee.

“This is wonderful, Gwen. What a way to start the day…view and all. Thanks, too, um, for last night…I don’t know what to say…” I watch the play of dappled sunshine on her face; the palm fronds outside tossing in the morning wind. I can see brilliant blue water over her shoulder, and whitecaps playing on the surface.

She smiles indulgently, replying, “Ahhh…yes, this is nice. I enjoy it. Fruits of hard labor. And you, my dear, were delicious last night. I was quite impressed by your stamina, and talent. And sweetness. Thank you, Erin. I know we’ll have to have a repeat performance, soon!” Her eyes scan mine, and I see a cat-like enjoyment in them from the massive blush she’s causing with her words. I duck my head, crimson, but feeling …wonderful. Her foot caresses my calf, then my thigh, under the table, sliding under my white robe. I shiver with delight, but hope to myself she’s just playing. I don’t think I can do much of anything at the moment except melt.

Her mahogany red hair catches the sun as she tosses her head back and laughs, deeply, huskily. I am frozen, watching her, hearing the cool tones ring through the room and out the window. Somehow I feel entranced: I’m dreaming, and I better wake up! Her laugh slows, and she again looks deeply into my eyes. Can she read my mind?? 

“I better think about getting back to my apartment, and getting ready for work, ma’am,” I manage, and she grins. I wonder where my clothes are, and if they’re still intact after the way she removed them last night. I look around, wondering. 

“We have time for a shower, yet, dear girl, and your clothes are over there on the table. Come on, let’s enjoy the morning; work comes later. And I know you hate working for Skip Kendrick; we’ll talk about that, too.” She stands, and I do, as well, following her lead. She takes my left hand in her right, and leads me into a massive, marbled bathroom, almost as big as her bedroom. The water feels good, and her hands and lips send me into orbit…

**

Pulling on a new blouse, I check my hair in the mirror. Home feels restful, and rest is what I need after last night and this morning. My God! Never in my life…my train of thought is interrupted by a knock on the door. My first thought is, “Oh, no, it’s Gwen—not again! Not another time…I can barely walk as it is…” I scamper to the door, though, and open it. Peter’s standing there, arms akimbo, foot tapping a rapid beat.

“Where, Miss Thang, have you been all night? Hmmm? Just get in? And what is that mark I see on your collarbone—” he reaches, and touches a place Gwen had laughingly apologized for after the shower. She said she got a little carried away; the marks of her teeth were still evident. My face burns with embarrassment, and Peter smirks.

“Who was the lucky girl, girl? Hmm? That little Latin bunch of grapes, Dolores? She is fine, you know. Lovely way she walks…” His dark eyes laugh, anticipating. What should I say? Tell him I slept with the boss lady after she carried me off the beach? I shuffle my feet, looking away, then down. His smile fades a little, and he continues: “Ahem. Cat got your tongue, or is it too tired to talk today? Got some coffee in there? Erin? Hello?”

I start, having been thinking about someone else’s tongue entirely, and come back to the present. “I’m sorry, Peter, sure I have coffee. Right this way…” I spread my arm dramatically, and he brushes past me into the apartment. I go to the kitchen, whip up a couple of cups of instant (sure doesn’t match what I had this morning, a part of my mind whispers), and join him on the patio. “Did you call me or something last night?”

“Yes, just to make sure with all the large wolf-looking dogs and equally scary guards around that you got home okay…but you apparently made a side visit somewhere. Details, Miss Thang, I want juicy details. And thanks for the coffee, too!” He sits back, expectantly, arms crossed, after inhaling about half his cup of coffee. He does that; he’s a java hound. His infectious grin spreads, and I giggle. Actually giggle.

We both look started for a minute, and he’s the first to recover. “Hmmm….must have been a lovely butch thing that got ahold of you, with that girlish giggle erupting. Who had the pleasure?”

I look away, into the brush and palms. The wind shows no sign of dying down today; the waves will be big today. The comforting scent of coffee and Peter’s aftershave relaxes me, and I take a deep breath. “Would you believe Gwendolyn Ingolfsson, dearest?” His jaw drops, and then he laughs.

“You dawg! I saw you eyeing her during our meeting, but had no idea that you and her would…I mean, who wouldn’t want to? I have even entertained some thoughts that way, if you can believe that.” He swigs some more coffee, and looks me over. “Looks like she just about wore you out, Frisky. But I tell you all the time, you go too long between women…”

“I know, I know. I didn’t think it would happen, but it did. We were talking about swimming; I had met her on the beach, skinny-dipping.” He guffawed appreciatively. I went on, “She wanted me…”

“Umm-hmm!”

“Hey, are you going to let me tell this, or not? Comments from the peanut gallery are not necessary.” I wait until he smiles abashedly. “Ok. She wanted me to go swimming with her, and I had a bit of a flashback to the Nimitz. The water was dark. I guess I still haven’t really gotten over that. Jeeze… anyway, she calmed me down—no smirks, thank you very much—we got talking, and then she, well, seduced the hell out of me. End of story,” I finish, triumphantly.

“Excuuuse me, but I believe I said I wanted details. You know, she kissed you, you kissed her, she did this and that…you responded by blah blah blah…and could I have more coffee? Please?”

“You know as well as I do where I keep my coffee, and no, no more details. No, seriously, Peter!” I protest, as he pouts, and pokes my foot with the toe of his sandal. “Look, I feel sort of strange about all this. And a lot of what happened last night was…” I drift off, into reverie, and Peter looks oddly at me.

He gets up, makes another cup of coffee for himself, and warms mine up again. Coming back to the patio, he sits quietly, and we listen companionably to the sounds of the birds squawking, and the more distant sounds of the compound—er, campus, as Skip the Stupid would say-- waking up. “Erin, it’s ok. I get the feeling that she’s very, um, overpowering. I know she’s butch. Very. Makes me shiver, thinking about how butch she is. Was she too much? I mean, is it something you’re uncomfortable with? You’re acting a little spacey.” His deep blue eyes are alight with concern. He is my best friend, after all.

“No, no…not too much. I don’t guess. She was overpowering, though. I’m not used to losing control… but it’s nothing I’m uncomfortable with. I guess. Maybe it was just a fun fling for her, and that’s the last we’ll hear of it, you know?” I grin, but just saying the words makes my heart drop out from under me. What’s this, goofy girl, my mind says to itself. Falling in love with your charismatic, beautiful, incredibly wealthy and wordly boss ain’t the thang to do…you know better. A deeper part of my mind roars out “Gwen!” like I had so many times last night, and I’m stuck in between the two. I look up, into Peter’s eyes, and feel a flash of love for him. 

“Is that someone at the door, dahling?” he asks, getting up. “I’ll get it, you stay right here and drink some of your coffee. As spacey as you’re acting, you need some caffeine!” He walks smoothly to the front door, and speaks a moment to someone. He returns, holding something behind his back. “Want three guesses, Erin?”

“No, just tell me what it is! It’s not from Skip, is it?” Visions of a stack of “Must Be Done Now” memos…

“Gawd, no, chile! Try the other end of the spectrum!” With a flourish, he displays half a dozen red roses, wrapped in green crinkly paper and twine. “There’s a note!” 

I grab the note, my mouth open in surprise. Ripping the envelope open, I pull out the parchment card, and read, Thanks for a simply lovely evening and breakfast. You’re a sweet girl—hope you like roses. They’re a favorite of mine, and of my mother’s. Let’s meet for dinner tomorrow night, 7-ish.----Gwen “Oh, mah gawd!” I mutter, rereading the firm, flowing script. Peter leans over my shoulder, his ponytail brushing me. 

“Whoah, doggies! Man! ‘Sakes alive, chile---you’ve got a romantic there. Or a very seductive woman, or both. You must be impressive as hell doing horizontal PT! I never knew…” He strokes my back, and whistles. I’m stricken with terminal embarrassment, and find myself reading the note one more time. And again. Is this for real, I wonder. My mind is split between “Yes, yes!” and “Um, well…”

Work seems to go by in a flash; I’m mostly quiet during the day. Peter does his best to make me laugh during lunch, and manages to get a few chuckles out of me. But I find him watching me during the day, a serious, appraising look in his eyes. I decide not to worry about it. My body’s all tingly, and it’s so damn hard to keep my mind on what I am doing. Network diagrams hold no interest for me; usually I see them as entertaining, occasionally frustrating, mysteries to be stalked down and solved. When five or so rolls around, I clear off my desk. Skip walks by, snooping.

“What’s this, Miss Kane?” His grubby, stubby hands reach for the card I’ve kept with me all day, and a flash of rage surges through me. How dare he? I snatch it from his grasp, and fold it, putting it inside my jean pocket. His face turns ruddy and his beady little eyes flash. Oh, great, now I’ve pissed him off. “Well, really, Miss Kane. It was on your desk, so I merely assumed it was work-related. Obviously, I was incorrect. And you, miss, are quite rude.”

“Well, it’s mine, and I’m sorry if you thought I was rude. It’s not for anyone to read but me, ok?”

“You know my policy on workplace romances. It’s clearly stated in the Policy and Procedures Handbook. In fact, I can show it to you. I wondered about hiring you and your little friend Peter Wright, but I was overruled by Cairstens…as if he knows anything about manageme—”

“I believe that’s ‘Mr. Cairstens’ to you, and I happen to know quite a bit about management.” Tom Cairstens is standing next to my desk, his cool blue eyes dangerously alight with anger. 

Skip Kendrick goggles for a moment, pudgy face crimson-colored, and then turns on his heel, vanishing into his office. The door slams shut, making me jump. This is all I need, after last night, I murmur to myself. Tom looks down at me and smiles toothily.

“Regular little bastard, isn’t he? He may not last too long around here. Team players do better. Or individuals with initiative, and some common sense. But you know that, don’t you, Erin?”

Peter’s walked over to my desk, and has his hand on my shoulder. The two men eye each other speculatively, and Tom continues. “Sorry I burst in like that; I’m really on a personal visit sort of thing. I was wondering if you and a friend,” here he glances warmly at Peter, “would like to join Alice, Dolores and myself for dinner tonight in Nassau.”

“Wow, Mr. Cairstens! That sounds fun. What do you think, Peter?” Cairstens is known to be Gwen’s right hand man, as it were; I’ve also heard they were more than friends. This is someone I don’t want to insult, or cross. There seem to be a few on that list around here. The name of the security chief, Vulk Dragovic, comes to mind. I’d rather jump into a bag full of rattlers than have to deal with him. I suddenly, for no reason, have another thought: I’d rather deal with him a hundred times over than an angry Gwendolyn Ingolfsson once. Brrrrr! 

Running a hand across his mustache, Peter nods enthusiastically. “Sounds fine to me.”

“Great! The seaplane’s ready to go; the takeoff and landing may be a bit choppy due to the waves, but we’ll be just fine,” Tom replies. My mouth drops open, and so does Peter’s. We must look a lovely pair. Yup, Ma ‘n’ Pa Yokel frum Dingleberry Holler…yuk yuk yuk… “And one other thing, please just call me Tom. I’d really prefer to call you Erin and Peter rather than Ms. Kane and Mr. Wright. We’ll be working closely together in the future, I’m sure. Ready?”

“Do we need to change into something more fun, Tom?” Peter asks, eyeing Tom’s designer grey suit jacket and silk tie. Peter and I are dressed fairly casually; I have a light paisley-print short sleeved blouse on, jeans and sneakers; Peter’s wearing sandals, khaki slacks, and a light blue shirt. It sets his eyes off nicely; I can feel the attraction between the two men growing. “Where are we going in Nassau, if you don’t mind me asking?”

“We love going to Graycliff, so I made reservations for us. IngolfTech staff are almost regulars there now. Too, I had entertained the thought of checking out The Zoo, down on Saunder’s beach. Been there? We certainly have time for you folks to change into something more… fun, if that’s what you’d like to do,” Tom answers, his blue eyes enjoying Peter. Peter grins back; I feel his hand tighten a bit on my shoulder, and realize a meeting of the minds has taken place.

Clearing my desk, I stand and Peter squeezes my shoulder, just once. Hey, maybe he’s going to get lucky tonight. Seems to be going around, my mind chuckles. Then I can ask him all the embarrassing questions the next morning…

Tom turns, staring at Skip’s office. The curtained windows sway; obviously someone’s been playing Spy Guy. He’s such a dickhead, he can’t even do that right. “Is this the way it always is, Erin?” Tom asks, as we walk out of the building. I pause, considering the politic thing to say, and then decide to be blunt.

“Yeah, pretty much, Mr., uh, Tom, yes it is. Our work teams are great; we get everything done either ahead of schedule or on schedule, but no thanks to him. He’s either spying, nitpicking, or finding some other lovely way to destroy our morale. And there are other things, but I’m not sure how much you really want to hear. Skip is a burr under the saddle, that’s for sure.” I stare into the Californian’s eyes, wondering what will happen next.

Peter closes the door behind us, and makes a scooting motion with his hands. “Lady and gentleman, I believe the best place to discuss this is…Graycliff! Erin, let’s go pick you out something civilized to wear, and then I’ll jump into something, too.”

Cairstens laughs, a pleasing chuckle, and bows, dramatically. “I’ll gather the gaggle of gals, and let’s meet in 30 minutes down by the float plane. Sound like a plan?”

We nod, and as I turn to leave with Peter, Tom catches my hand, briefly applying a warm pressure. “And I do want to hear more about Kendrick, dear. Over dinner!”

Wearing what Peter assured me was the only thing I had to adorn myself if we were going to Graycliff, I meet Peter, still primping, at his apartment. “Come on, Mr. Peacock, we have about five minutes to walk to the float plane. Aren’t you ready yet?”

He sighs, checks his hair once more, and nods. “As ready as I’ll ever be, I guess…”

“What’s the matter, cold feet? Not like you, oh most urbane one!” I laugh. I still feel high, although tired, and a bit sore, actually, now that I stop to think about it. Peter’s reluctance, or lack of party spirits, makes me wonder. Not like him; he’s usually the one to be dragging me to these things.

His dark eyes look me over, concern in his face. “It’s just that, well, it’s all so sudden. I mean, we were network technicians a couple of days ago; you get seduced by Boss Lady, and now we’re flying to Nassau for dinner and dancing? Doesn’t that strike you as odd, Erin?”

“No,” slowly. It’s hard to think, really; I force myself. “I just think what happened between Gwen and moi was sort of happenstance, or luck; I also think Tom’s planning a Skip purge. We’re the next in line, I guess. Maybe he wants to make sure we’re ‘team players’, like he was talking about in the office…”

Peter takes my arm. “I think we’re five minutes late, old girl. Let’s go; it’ll be interesting, anyway, and Tom is a doll. Hm-mmm-mmmh!”


	3. Chapter Three

Chapter 3

It’s late night thinking time, and I sit down on the patio with a cup of cocoa. I feel itchy, or achy; restless is too bland a word to convey the inner tossing and turning that’s going on. Why? The dinner was fabulous. I’m pretty much an ole country girl from ‘round Savannah way; don’t eat at places like that much. I was impressed; I could tell Peter was, too, and he’s way more sophisticated that I am. The dance place, The Zoo, was cool, too. Classy. Peter and Tom obviously hit it off, that’s for sure. Alice, Dolores, and I had fun talking. We kept finding ourselves discussing Gwen, for some reason.

The thought of her brings me back to the here-and-now, and my sleepless dilemma. Already tried the old relaxation trick, but it’s not working; if anything, touching myself made the restlessness worse. The night I’d spent with Gwen seems so long ago, and it’s plain: I need her. But she scares me, too. The push-pull sensations threaten to turn into a massive headache, and I lower my head into my hands. Peter’s not having this problem, I bet, I think, a bit jealously.

The gentle breeze soothes me, and I try once again to relax. I shift, sitting back in the comfortable rattan chair, staring up into the incredible Bahamian night. The stars are so vivid; there’s so much less light pollution here than other places I’ve been. I think about Gwen’s comments from the previous night. She seemed so, alone; so homesick for a few moments. Where’s she from? What’s the mystery? Why does she affect me this way?

Dawn’s not long off, and I think about bed again. Might as well try one more time; do the thing of planning out your dream house, silly girl. Start with the blueprints, and go from there…

**  
Bright and early, I jog over to Peter’s, but no one’s home. Hah! Now the shoe’s on the other foot, Peter my boy. I’ll have to rib him about this at lunch. I take a quick turn down the empty beach, trying to stretch the soreness out of my legs and ribs. Dang, if I’m this sore now, I hope, sort of, that she’s not thinking of a repeat performance tonight…nah, be honest girl; you know what you want. Or do you, a tiny, quiet voice whispers.

After a shower, I feel ready for breakfast, and work. Maybe we can finish the local area network for the physics lab, I think, as I munch some toast. I hope Peter will be bright-eyed and bushy-tailed, too. We can get the crews working on getting the software loaded up, and then start the testing phase…

Preoccupied, I miss the first quiet knock, but jump at the second, toast crumbs flying. Egad! I brush my t-shirt off, and walk to the door. Opening it, I find one of Gwen’s Haitian servants, a tall ebony man, dressed in blindingly white shirt and shorts. He grins, bows a bit, and hands me an envelope, and one red rose. “G’day, ma’am,” he lilts, and walks away.

I close the door and lean against it, holding the rose in one hand and the envelope in the other. It’s a heavy parchment type; not some cheap store brand. There’s an embossed symbol on the leaf of the envelope; it’s the same sort of dragon that’s on the front doors of Gwen’s mansion, I realize. Hmmm….she sure is fond of them. Must mean something to her; maybe I should ask.

Walking to the breakfast table, I slit the envelope open with my (clean) butter knife, and a folded piece of stationary slides out. The rose I put in the vase that contains the others, sent yesterday morning. The sweet, slightly heady scent of the flowers fills the room, and I inhale. I notice my hands shaking slightly, and for some odd reason, that odd perfume Gwen had been wearing the other night comes strongly to mind. Finally, I work up the nerve to open the folded piece of parchment.

I hope your social calendar’s still open for tonight. I’m looking forward to seeing you again, my sweet. ‘Til then, think “fun” thoughts…--Gwen. Agh, this is amazing, I think. My knees are weak; a fever seems to build under my heart. I guess she enjoyed it; I know I did. This is so…overpowering? Exciting. I’m not used to this sort of thing. What have I gotten myself into???

Rising, I place the note back in its envelope, and put it on the coffee table. Peter will get a kick out of this. But then again, he may be floating around in hormonal heaven, too. Ah, well, what’s the saying: one cloud feels lonely. There’s more to this…

Work’s uneventful; Peter is studiously prim and proper and only winks at me four or five times. He’s got a spring to his step, too; must have gotten laid. We work together, supervising the other network techs as they install the necessary software and begin testing the physics lab’s LAN. Skip’s chosen to lurk in the background, as usual, contributing only snide comments about “people who stay out all night being awfully quiet in the morning”. Skip, I’ll make you quiet all day if you don’t get out of my hair, I think, and am surprised at the strength of my anger. Jeeze, better watch that! Bopping your pissant boss might be momentarily fun, but getting canned from here would be…unfortunate. To say the least.

I’m acutely aware of the time, all day. Twice, Peter’s caught my glance at the clock in the lab office, and enjoyed my blush. Lunch finally rolls around, and we escape the Kendrick Zone, taking our lunch to the beach. The azure water glistens in the sunshine, and gulls become immediately interested in our vittles. We sit by the shade of a palm tree, on one of its fallen brethren, and eat quietly for a few moments. Sea smells fill the air, fresh and salty.

“Mmmhhhh…this is maighty faine, bubba…” as I stretch out on the sand. I can brush it off later. Peter laughs delightedly at my overemphasized, outrageous accent, and drops down next to me, on his stomach.

“Yas’m, ah shore does laik this’yeer beech thangy…” He sighs, and stretches luxuriantly, arms over his head, arching his back. His muscles stand out clearly against his polo shirt, and his legs certainly show off his tan in those shorts. I think, quite a specimen. He turns to face me, his eyes curious. “So what’s with you? Skip’s been worse than ever, which is amazing, since he apparently has the brain power of a leprous lemming, but you’ve barely said a word to him…”

“Oh, I don’t know. And where were you, this morning? Came over to see if you wanted to exercise with me, and you weren’t home yet…”

“Well, let’s just say I got quite a bit of exercise last night and this morning. You know, maybe it’s something in the water…Tom’s quite a man. Best I’ve had for quite some time…and he’s got some moves that I haven’t seen before…” Peter closes his eyes, resting his chin on crossed arms.

“I bet I’ve seen something close to them, old boy. Guess where he learned them…” I chuckle, prodding him gently. Alice had been quite frank about it in the ladies’ powder room last night; apparently all three of them, Tom, Alice and Dolores, as well as Vulk, occasionally, have enjoyed Gwen’s amorous attentions. Normally, I would have raised an eyebrow at the variety, but this weird mood I’m in made me just shrug and smile at the Australian girl’s pretty face. It’d take more than one person to keep up with Boss Lady…

Peter looks at me, wondering. “I know, you told me about the rumors; I guess you’ve got more info now? Girl-to-girl talk, perhaps?”

“Yepper. Alice, last night,” I begin, and then poke him again at his dramatically shocked-looking face. “No, goofy, I didn’t do that with her last night; in fact, I’d swear up and down she’s straight. Haven’t ever been wrong about that, you know. No, we had a chat, and apparently Boss Lady is an equal-opportunity seductress. Most of the top staff, anyway.”

“Eeeuuuww, Mueller? Ech, ptuiy, snark…” He grimaces, and rolls about, flailing in mock horror. We collapse into a gale of laughter at the thought; it takes a few minutes for us to regain our composure.

Wiping tears from my eyes, I sigh. “No, haven’t heard that he’s been one. Tom, Alice, Dolores, and Vulk, those were the names mentioned. Not Mein Herr Doktor Seig Heil Mueller.”

“Hey, how do you feel about that? Now your name is appended to that illustrious list. Gee, an equal to Vulk, no less. Ready to stomp on kiddies’ heads, and do some evil torture shit?” Peter laughs, but there’s an edge to his hilarity.

“No! How could you think such a thing? Had my fill of death, and you ought to know it.” I start packing up the lunch remnants, tossing bread to the sqwacking gulls. Ghostly images of the Nimitz going down swirl around me, calling. I wait a moment, until my voice is steadier, and look at my best friend. He’s sitting up, arms around his knees, watching me. “Why are you so concerned about this?”

“Because you’re not acting yourself, Erin. I know I’ve made jokes about you going too long between lays, but do you really want to be “Lay Person #5” or something? It just doesn’t seem like you, and you’ve been very distant, very distracted…I’m just concerned, ok? Please, don’t let’s fight about this.”

If you’d been with her, felt the raw power in those arms; the hunger in the eyes looking down at you; the scent… “I know, Peter. Let’s not fuss. This has been kind of fast, and intense. I guess I’ve been tense, or something. But it’s ok, really. It’s just that, well, I don’t think one person could keep up with Boss Lady. And for some reason, I don’t mind about the others. I don’t know why,” I answer his unspoken question. “But it’s getting late, and we better get back to the lab, and see how things are going.”

When we walked in, the techs looked sullenly at us. That’s weird; why the black looks? No one’s working, either . “Hey, dudes and dude-ettes, what’s happening?” I ask, looking around. No one answers. Hmmm…

Finally, one boy speaks up. “Uh, well, Erin, we’re kind of, um, like, on a sit-down strike.”

“What?!”

“It’s like, ah, we’re just not going to work as hard as we have been, and then have everything fucked up by Kendrick. And then he blames it on us, and cancels the scuba diving trip you had planned for all of us… it sucks, man, and we’re tired of it.” His freckled face was flushed with anger, and I saw it in the eyes of the other computer technicians. The trip was something I had planned for all of us, for a reward on finishing the LAN project for the physics labs. Oh, no!

“Hey, whoah, why don’t you tell me exactly what happened? Give me some data, guy, and I’ll see if I can fix things. But give me a chance before you string all us manager types up with T-1 wire, ok?” I try to grin, but it feels strained.

Harvey, the freckled young man who had been talking, walks over to the server we’ve got on a table in the physics lab office. “He came in here and interrupted Mary as she was loading software, saying he had to check his email. She told him that he’d have to use another computer, that this one wasn’t up for that yet. He told her to shut up, and then opened the cd drive, cancelling the load. Then…” his face becoming blotched with red spots, “then the asshole gets banging on the keyboard, and accuses Mary and me of messing up the IngolfTech network. The whole thing’s down, now; apparently he did something in his office, or on one of you guy’s computers, and now we’re up shit creek. That’s when he canceled the trip.”

Mary, a slight Chinese woman, face tear-stained, stops flipping her calculator from one tiny hand to another. “That’s when he said he was going to fire you, Erin. That it was your fault…should I tell her all he said, Harvey?” He nods, and she continues, “That you hadn’t set up any of the proper procedures, or anything, and that even though you’re Ingolfsson’s most recent ‘plaything’, he’ll see you’re canned, but good…” Her voice trails off suddenly, and everyone’s head turns to the doorway of the lab.

Gwen’s standing there, arms held behind her back. A small smile plays across a face that reminds me rather strongly of a photo I’ve seen of a Siberian tiger, staring hungrily into the camera’s lens. Same direct look; same sense of impending danger. Oh, shit, I say under my breath, she’s heard it all, before I can try to fix things…talk about one cloud feeling lonely; I’m in a London fog of them right now. Damn!! Her eyes snap to my face, and I feel a crimson wave rising, coloring my cheeks and throat.

“Well, well, well…sounds like a bit of a problem. I knew the network had crashed, but not why. Now I know. Listen, all of you. As from this moment on, Peter is the CIS manager. You’ll take your orders from him, and he’s to assist you. That’s the way the teams have been working, and I’ve been very pleased with the results. Very pleased.” A warm wash of approval goes through the room, and I see the techs begin to relax, and tentative smiles form.

Gwen continues, her voice getting a bit less friendly, “ Skip Kendrick’s no longer, ah, associated with IngolfTech; let’s think of him as a learning experience for all of us, myself included. How long will it take to get the network up and running, Peter?”

God, she’s not talking to me, or asking me questions at all. Am I history, too? No…please, no!

Peter looks at me, and then at Gwen. He clears his throat, and answers. “It depends on if he’s done any damage to the computers he messed with. Anywhere from an hour to about seventy-two hours, I’d say. Erin would know more, since she had training in disaster recovery in the Navy.” Good ole Peter; even if I’m a sinking ship (the thought chills me; the Nimitz is still too close for emotional distance on those words), he’s sticking by me.

“Erin’s going to be working directly for me, Peter, doing some planning for IngolfTech’s expansion. We’ll have offices in Nassau, New York City, and here within the next few years, and I want to get her in on the ground floor, planning and preparing. Can you handle this on your own, with your teams?” Gwen’s eyes lock onto Peter’s, and he nods. Then nods more enthusiastically. The mood’s catching, and the teams are smiling openly now.

I’m on her staff…well, I guess I am, in more ways than one. Wonder how far Skip flew when she booted his ass, I wonder, and her eyes turn towards me. 

There’s a smile in them, and I feel warm all over, like being stroked. “Yes, I thought so; you, Erin, and Peter have created some great teams here. Peter can handle getting us back up and running, and you can begin meeting with me and the other staff members, Erin, to get the planning process going. I have confidence in all of you; you’ve definitely earned a scuba diving weekend, courtesy of me.” A cheer went up, brief but surprising. We computer geeks aren’t real cheerleader types.

Gwen walks over to me, and puts her arm across my shoulder. “As for our personal relationships, we’re all grownups here, aren’t we?” The group nods; some blush, but most manage not to giggle too much. “Then live and let live; that’s a helpful philosophy for you folks.” She squeezes, slightly, but enough to remind me of her tiger-like strength. I’m one of the blushing contingent of the techs, and she’s enjoying it. She leans in to me, and whispers into my left ear, “I know you’re a grown-up girl, aren’t you, mia dolce?” Her tongue, hot and startling, flicks in and out, making my knees tremble. She’s done it so fast, though, that I don’t think anyone’s noticed, except maybe Peter. He knows me well enough to see when I’m having trouble standing up!

I nod, and look up at her face, framed in the short, thick, deep red hair. Her leaf-green eyes pull my attention like a magnet attracts iron filings, and I feel short of breath. “I was planning on telling you about your promotion tonight, but things moved that up a bit, Erin. Congratulations, for both you and Peter.” Another gentle giant strength hug; I can tell she’s being careful about it.

“Thank you, ma’am, I mean, Gwen, uh, that is…” I stumble to a halt, unsure of how to address her. Peter saves the day by coming over and offering me his hand.

“Congrats, Erin, on your new job; you’ll be perfect doing the planning! But will you still answer silly network questions from your old fellow Squid?” He beams at me, but with a wink in his eye. He knows I’m trying to get my size 5 1/2s out of my mouth, as I had suspected he would.

“Well, of course, old boy. You did manage to teach me all those difficult Navy terms, like bulkhead, deck, hatch, and head…” I grin back, taking his pro-offered hand in both of mine, and squeezing.

Gwen tosses her head back and laughs. “I can see you two are a formidable team, still! I’ll keep that in mind, my Navy crew…” She takes her hand from my shoulder, managing to stroke my ass slightly as she does so; I jump, but not very much. It feels so good to be near her… “Erin, I’ll see you for dinner, won’t I?”

“Oh, yes, and thanks, thanks so much, for what you sent, the other morning and this morning. They’re so beautiful; roses are my favorite flowers. I’ll come by around 7, as your note said?” I’m very aware of how my nipples are probably showing through the cotton t-shirt, and cross my arms casually. That just makes it feel more intense. Get a grip, girlfriend!

“Yes, 7 sounds just fine. Perhaps we’ll take a dip in the pool tonight, if the weather’s suitable. Sound fun?” Her even white teeth part in a predator’s grin. “And I’m so glad you enjoyed the flowers. My favorites, too.”

Turning to Peter, she shakes his hand, squeezing enough to make his eyes grow large. “‘Congrats’, to you, too, Peter. I hear you and Tom had a wonderful time last night…” She whispers something to him, and to my surprise, Mr. Composure flushes brightly, and starts. Gwen chuckles, and strokes one side of his moustache. The techs are watching, and I feel…odd.

“So please, no more silly talk about strikes, or that sort of thing,” Gwen speaks to the room. “I’m sure we’ll all be much happier with the new middle management, won’t we?” A chorus of agreement meets her, not all of it something to say to your elderly Aunt Ellie. “See you later, Erin. Remember the note, and what I asked you to think about…” The woman smiles at me, and walks from the room. 

An excited buzz takes up after she leaves, and I feel overwhelmed. Several of the computer techs come over to personally congratulate the two of us, and the odd feeling is subsumed. For the time being, the always-aware tiny voice in my mind cautions. I shrug it off, enjoying the moment.

**

I stand nervously on the front steps of Gwen’s mansion; the night scents of the island fill my head. My heart’s pounding, and I’ve got a strong urge to just run off, into the night. Either that or run inside…my knock’s quickly answered, and I’m ushered into the foyer of the house by a white-clad butler type. I’m wearing “go-to-meetin” clothes; black slacks, a white shirt and a black and gold vest. Peter says it’s understatedly good at emphasizing certain, um, assets. Right, whatever. As long as I don’t look goofy. The butler gestures for me to follow, and we go upstairs.

I didn’t remember much of the third floor, Gwen’s own private lair, since we didn’t tour it for the networking project and when I was there, the night before last, I was otherwise occupied. Now I get a good look at it, and it’s amazing. Several paintings in one area; one’s of a woman, white-blonde hair cut short; she’s dressed in a flowing off-the-shoulder Greek toga sort of thing. She’s beautiful, like a High Elf, but sad eyes. I stop to look, briefly, and I notice the background—she’s sitting with her back to earthrise over a cold, cratered lunar surface. Weird. Not from life, I’d guess. Good painting, though. I wonder who did it?

We walk past other rooms, and I stop again at one, looking in. It’s a workout facility. Free weights, exercise machines, a treadmill, a balance bar…a rack of what looks like swords in one corner. I goggle, amazed. There’s a bench press near the door, and I look at the weights still on the bar. 60 pounds, 30 on each side. Not bad; no wonder she keeps in such good shape. Most gyms would be envious of this mirrored layout. The butler clears his throat, politely but pointedly. I grin, embarrassed, and turn to leave. On second thought…some intuition makes me look back. That’s not 60 pounds…it’s 600. 300 on each side. My stomach lurches, and fills with ice. She can bench press 600 pounds…nah, must have put those weights on to get them out from under foot. Still…the doubt lingers. I put forth a masterful effort, pushing it from my mind, and follow the butler, repentantly, down the hall.

The patient, smiling man waits for me by a set of double doors; the smells of a wood fire and dinner waft down the hallway towards me. I hurry to catch up, and return his smile, as he opens the doors for me. He enters, announcing, “Dona, Miz Kane, fo’ dinnah…” I step inside, my eyes immediately drawn to Gwen, standing by the fireplace, replacing a poker. She’s dressed in a silk blouse, a dark skirt setting the cream color of the top off well. Her eyes light up, momentarily making me think of the last cat who decided I was good enough to take care of her, and then Gwen smiles.

“Good evening, dear. Dinner’s ready. Are you?”


	4. Chapter Four

Chapter 4

Three weeks later…

The sounds of Aretha Franklin wailing fills my apartment. I step down from the stepladder, studfinder in hand. Lordy, did Peter ever laugh when I asked him if he had one…it took quite a few minutes to explain that the tool he had in mind wasn’t the one I needed…that boy! Now that he’s frisky with Tom, that’s about all he thinks about. Of course, being over to Gwen’s three or four times a week has left me with a sore bod but an enriched erotic repertoire, that’s for sure. The things that woman thinks of…

I grasp the framed poster of Kate Bush, one of my favorite singers, and climb back up the ladder. Propping the frame against the wall and my knees, I begin to hammer in a nail to hang it up. These walls are not solid wood, that’s for sure, and the nail suddenly sinks in further than I expected. I carefully start to lever it out, and it sticks. Great. I decide it would be easier if Kate waits on the floor, and regain my perch. I tug, muscles flexing, irritated at the stupid nail. Damn!! There’s a crack, and I fall backwards, off the ladder, a piece of the wall, paint chips, and some wiring following me. 

Dang, that hurt, even though I landed mostly on my fanny, I think, and begin dusting myself off. Now what? Oh, maintenance, I just happened to walk by the wall when it fell on me? The wiring catches my attention, and I look at it more closely. The overhead light is swaying, and I look up at it, the shadows flashing over my face as dawning comprehension grows. 

This is a bug, an optical and aural bug, I think, stunned. I turn the length of electronic gizmo over in my hand, and then look up at the light fixture again. The print on the wire is pretty specific: Pacific Telemetry, Vid/Aud Intake, No. 3382. A bug? In my apartment? But who would—Vulk would, that poor excuse for a trouser snake, I grind out, out loud, and then catch myself. If there’s one, there could be more. Shut up and act natural, like you just fell on your butt. I stuff the wired device into my jeans pocket, and get up. 

A phone call, a slightly pained explanation, and I’m assured maintenance will be right over. Oh, I’m sure you will be, snarls part of me, and I set to sweeping up the wood fragments and the paint chips. Well, maybe they can hang the Kate Bush print up for me, since I am apparently construction-impaired. I think about calling Peter, actually picking up the phone, before the cold voice in my head stops me. Bugs in the house, bugs everywhere. I’ll talk to him on the beach. The background noise should cover us.

The husky maintenance men quickly make “repairs”, and even hang Ms. Bush up for me, making sure the poster in its frame is well balanced and centered. She looks over the living room, regal in furred robe, holding a crown and a globe. I hope whoever’s watching the video input likes looking at her. I pull a jacket on, see the men out, and walk swiftly, worriedly, over to Peter’s.

I knock, and Tom answers the door. “Hey, Erin! Come on in; we just finished dinner. Ready for some coffee and dessert?”

“Um, sure…that sounds fine, Tom.” Wonderful, now I can’t tell Peter until Tom’s not around, and he’s probably staying over. I grind my teeth in frustration, but cover with a sweet smile, and join the boys for dessert. The evening continues, and finally I make an excuse to leave. They act admirably reluctant for me to leave, which is nice on the part of the lovebirds, but I might as well leave, since Peter’s not going to be alone tonight. He walks me to the door.

“Thanks for stopping by, Erin. We really enjoyed it; I had forgotten about Chief Gray falling on his face during that one inspection…I remember how hard we all had to work on not laughing out loud, and how he never figured out the wire trick…Jeeze, we were crazy kids.” He hugs me warmly, and I return it.

“Let’s do lunch tomorrow!” Maybe then I can talk with you by yourself, I hope.

He laughs, “Ah, no! Can’t…maybe you need to check your calendar—you’re going to Nassau with Gwen tomorrow morning. Remember? You told me yesterday, silly girl! What’s happening to your memory? Advancing up the corporate ladder causing those ole gray cells to shrink, or something?”

Oops. I had forgotten. Oh, well. “You’re right, as usual. Of course, you are the Human Day Runner, so I should just check with you each morning to see where I am supposed to be…” I chuckle, and he returns the grin. “Well, let’s do lunch when I get back. Now that I do remember, it’s supposed to be a long weekend sort of thing, so let’s talk Monday. How’s that sound, Peter?”

“Sounds great, Miss Thang. Don’t do anything I wouldn’t.”

I assure him I won’t (if only he knew some of the things I’ve done with Gwen, he might not say that so fast), and wander back to my apartment. I open the door, and step inside. The lights are off; that's odd, I thought I left them on when I left the apartment. A chill spreads over me, and I turn to step quickly back outside. 

“Erin, do come in. In fact, I must insist.” Gwen’s voice, amused, cat-like, at my start of fear. Real fear. A huge guard steps from his post by one of the palms in the front of my apartment, and gestures me back inside. The moonlight glints off his rifle, and my skin crawls. I take the hint, and reenter the room. Gwen sits in my recliner, at leopard ease, her black shirt and shorts showing off her milk-chocolate tan.

“My girl, I believe you’ve got something of mine. A small device. One you apparently found earlier this evening. You wouldn’t have it with you, now would you?” She advances, and I retreat until a wall puts a stop to my escape route. Eyes, hypnotic ones, arrow down into mine, and she smiles slowly. The feeling of fear only increases, and my heart’s threatening to leap out of my chest. I swallow, convulsively, and look from side to side.

“Where is it, Erin?”

“Um, what do you mean? I mean…that is, I, uh, Gwen…” My hands twist themselves into nervous knots, and sweat is beading on my face, trickling down my sides in cold runnels that make my shivers worse. It’s not Vulk’s, it’s hers…oh, god…

A hand slams with precisely controlled force into the wall next to my head, splintering the wood, showering me with chips. I almost piss myself. If that had been my head…how can she be so goddamned strong?!? “Don’t annoy me, girl. Tell me where it is, or hand it to me, and we’ll move on to more enjoyable things to do. Otherwise, I’ll move on to more enjoyable things to do, but you won’t enjoy them much at all.”

Her voice is cold now, as cold as that lunar landscape I’d glimpsed in the painting a few weeks ago. I’ve never heard her like this, and my eyes meet hers. They stab into me, hungry, alight with a growing annoyance. Good god, she’s psycho!, a portion of my mind yodels, and I try to duck away from her, aiming to run out the back door, vault the fence, and hide somewhere. 

I don’t even finish shifting my feet before her hand, the free one, slaps me. I spin out of control down onto the floor, my head ringing like a gong, stars in front of me. Blood, tangy and iron-tasting, fills my mouth, and I gasp for breath. She hit me! She actually hit me! I don’t believe this…I look up, into a face that is coolly amused.

“Psycho? No, I don’t think so, but then mental illness is something of a cultural construct, isn’t it?”

She can read my mind? What the hell? I wipe my mouth, my hand coming away red and wet. More blood dribbles down my chin from my split lip, and I feel it beginning to puff. A hand reaches down, and plucks me off the floor, seemingly effortlessly. I find myself suspended in the air, my feet off the floor. She pulls me close, so that we’re face to face.

“Do I have to strip search you? That could be a lot of fun…but that’s not really the point, now, is it, Erin?” Gwen whispers, slowly, softly. 

No, I shake my head, confused. What does she wa—

“Give. Me. The. Device.” Gwen roars into my face, astonishingly loud and husky. It’s like being in front of a ship’s whistle when it goes off, or feeling the back blast of a F-18 on the flight deck; it’s an elemental force, implacable. I’ve had company commanders, the Navy’s version of drill instructors, scream at me, and I thought they were pretty damn impressive. Now they’re the mews of a kitten in comparison. I do piss myself, horribly.

Gwen looks down at the stain spreading in my jeans, and laughs. My hand numbly holds out the wired device; I hadn’t consciously commanded it to do so. I didn’t even realize my hand had gone into my pocket when she yelled like that. She tosses me casually down to the floor, wet now, and pockets the small box with its guilty, trailing wires. Feet apart, fists on hips, the red-headed woman towers over me, looking down.

“Go take a shower, and we’ll get you packed and ready to go. You’ll be spending this weekend with me, as I planned, and maybe some more time than that, until you’ve…adjusted.” A toothy grin, and a toss of her red head toward the bathroom. “Go on, now. Get cleaned up, Erin.”

Stunned, numb, I pick myself up and walk quickly into the bathroom. My face stares out at me from the mirror; my eyes are huge, pupils dilated; the color of my face is white-shading-to-ivory, and I feel sick. Lurching, I vomit noisily into the commode, miserable. This can’t be happening, this can’t be happening. This is not happening…

A hand, the impossibly hot hand of my boss, my lover, comes down on the back of my neck, holding my head as I retch, uncontrollably. Her other hand places a cool facecloth on my forehead, and I hear her voice, soothing, calming. “Sssa, child. It’s alright. I’m not angry with you. I was just annoyed. Let’s get you a shower, and you’ll feel better. It’s just shock. Come on, Erin. It’s okay.”

I stand, shakily, and she begins to undress me. No, this is too much. I’m already shaking, and it grows worse. “Pl—please, Gwen, ma’am, I just need, ah, um, a minute or two, I, ah, please?” My voice’s shaking too, like a leaf in a tornado, which is exactly how I feel. “Please?!”

She nods, and strokes my pale face. “Jump in the shower, Erin. I’ll check on you in a moment or two.” There’s a slight tap at the door, and she answers it. “Just a moment, Dolores; I’ll help you pack her things. Start with the basics, darlin’; I’ll be right there.” Gwen gestures towards me, then the shower, and I obey, numbly.

I step away from her, my legs threatening to betray me and dump me onto the floor. Shuddering, I turn to the shower, reaching in and adjusting the water automatically. Part of my mind likes that—going on auto. It’s easier… 

As Gwen leaves, propping the door open with the small trash can, I strip off my shirt and jeans, underwear joining them in a pile, smelling of, well, me, and I climb into the stinging spray. The automatic motions of washing begin, but my mind still wails… even the mild herbal aroma rising from my soapy hands, automatic in their motions, doesn’t sooth me.

I can’t believe this…what’s happening…it’s not Vulk, it’s her…who is she??? The tiny voice, always ready to jump in, supplies the comment that pushes me over the edge: What is she? She’s… she’s not human? The weights, her strength, the beauty, the intelligence, the power…

The shakes get really bad, and I find myself crouched on the floor of the shower stall, hugging my knees to my chest, sobbing for breath. The escape plans are out; there’s one other escape left…I close my eyes, my tongue slipping between my teeth. I take an experimental chomp, and wince. If I do this, it better be the best bite of my life, ‘cause I ain’t gonna like it…

Gwen, nude, steps into the shower with me. Seeing what I’m doing, she growls, slightly, and lifts me to my feet. She pulls me close, resting my head on her chest. Hands like warm velvet-wrapped steel stroke me, and I can hear her heart pounding loudly, more rapidly than mine, in my ear. “That’s not the answer, Erin; if you try it, I’ll stop you; once you’ve recovered, you and I will have a… session…that you would remember for the rest of your life.”

I shudder. She goes on: “You’re mine, Erin. All mine, and I don’t want you dying before your time. You belong to me, and you will obey me. It’s that simple. The people I choose for this learn to obey me, to listen to me, and in return, I can promise you wealth, power, safety…guidance. A good life, but one that plays by my rules and no others.” She gazes down into my face, cupped in a strong, tanned, long-fingered hand.

“Don’t annoy me. Don’t try to deceive me. Don’t ever think about being disloyal. Serve me, and I’ll make your dreams come true.” Her tone changes, chilling me down to my bones. “Displease me, and I’ll make every nightmare you’ve ever had seem like a pleasant daydream. Understand, Erin? Do you understand me?”

A sudden warmth washes over me, disarming my growing hysteria. I feel…tranquilized. I want to shake it off, and grimace, twisting in her embrace. It’s useless; I’d have more luck twisting out of a three-inch steel cable. Her grip tightens, slightly, but enough to squeeze the air out of my lungs. Gasping, I look up at her, imploring with my eyes for freedom.

“You have to make the choice, Erin. The one my people have offered every human they’ve ever met. Serve me, and live. Refuse to serve me, and you’ll die. I’ll kill you.” The words are cold, alien somehow. The face that returns my gaze is aloof, aristocratic, predatory. Not the face I’m used to seeing.

“I don’t understand. Please, Gwen, I don’t understand…”

“I know you don’t, but you still need to decide. Now. Which do you prefer—life or death?”

A hand’s placed itself around my neck, palm on the back of my neck, at the base of my skull. It tightens, testing. I whimper, scared out of my wits. She’s going to kill me, here and now…oh god, no, no, not after surviving all I have, not like this, please, no…

“Life. Please.” The voice, so quiet and unemotional, sounds completely unlike me, but the words slip from my mouth. The grip relaxes, a bit; the woman holding me smiles, and sighs.

“Good.” A stroke down my back. “It would have been a waste, really. I enjoy you. And I like you, Erin.” Gwen reaches for the shower controls, one hand still on me, and turns the water off. “Let’s get you dried off, dressed, and over to the House. Then we’ll talk more, and perhaps I can answer some of your questions.”

**

A snifter of brandy in my hands, I perch on the edge of the couch in Gwen’s study. My hands have slowed their palsied shaking, but the fear’s still tearing around inside me. A sip, and the potent alcohol burns down my throat, joining its fellow sips in a volcanic pool that used to be my stomach. I don’t understand…

Gwen glides smoothly over to the couch, sitting on the arm, reaching out to stroke hair back from my forehead. She looks down at me fondly, and I catch a whiff of that scent she wears. I’ve never smelled anything quite like it, and somehow it makes my heart slow down. The delicate aroma of wood smoke drifts through the room, and with a gentle urging motion from the woman’s hand, I sink back into the couch.

“I know you don’t understand; you’ve had some suspicions, and so has Peter. I’ll explain, Erin. There are some things you’ll need to know if you’re going to serve me well.” Gwen sips from her own glass of burgundy-colored sherry, her eyes reflecting the flickering light from the fireplace.

“You’ve certainly come to the conclusion that I am a rather unique person. That’s true, in many ways. One way is that I’m not human. I’m a Draka.”

Not human, the voice inside me cries out, not human? I shiver, my eyes locked on her luminous leaf-green eyes. What does she mean? A Draka? What the hell is that?

“You’re homo sapiens sapiens, Erin. I’m homo drakensis. Post-human; genetically modified. Less like you than a chimpanzee. I’m from the future, but not your future… Have you ever read about the parallel universes theory? That there are multiple timelines, multiple historical possibilities, where things happen differently—one where there’s an America, one where it’s still a British colony, one where the Spanish Armada conquered England?” 

I nod, numbly. She pauses, then goes on: “I’m from one of those, further along in time as well. I ended up here, in yours, because there was a bit of an accident with a physics experiment.” She stops, tasting her drink again, looking into the fireplace. A log pops, and I almost jump out of my skin.

“This is difficult for you to accept the first time through; I don’t expect you to grasp all of it. There’ll be plenty of time for you to ask me any questions you have. What I do expect you to understand, and believe, is that I am much, much stronger, agile, powerful, and dangerous than you. And I expect instant, total compliance to any order I give you. The consequences of disobeying me are…unfortunate.”

Gwendolyn Ingolfsson gazes at me from the arm of the couch. Her long, aquiline face, half in shadow, half lit by the wavering light of the fireplace, makes me shrink back against the couch, shaking again. Even if she is crazy, I believe her, I think to myself. I nod acceptance; my hands are shaking so much the brandy is sloshing in the snifter. I reach forward and place it on the floor for safety’s sake.

“Since you belong to me, there’s no need to be too frightened, Erin. But I want you to have a… healthy respect…for what I can do.” She sets her drink down on the end table, and stands. With one arm, she reaches out, grasping me by the back of my neck like a rabbit. In one smooth, tremendously strong lift, I’m in the air, my feet swinging free of the floor. The muscles of the arm stand out like bronze cords, but no expression of strain appears on her face. She holds me suspended effortlessly, her eyes flashing green.

“And yes, I do bench press 600 pounds. That’s a warm up for me. I bench press more than that, usually. It’s a nice workout for me.” She knew I’d seen the weights. She’s known all this time. It wasn’t just to get them out of her way…

The words sink in, as does my precarious position. How…a corner of my mind wonders, and I open my mouth, gaping. My hands home in on her arm, feeling the marble-like muscles and tendons, the heat that pours off her skin. “Gwen, how? It’s not possible…”

“It is if you’re a drakensis, dear. My muscles and bones are different from yours. I’ll show you a model on the computer after a few days, when you can analyze the data more rationally. Right now, I want to show you a few things. Make an impression on the rest of your brain. The analytical part will take longer; that’s fine. You’re very bright, and creative. I value that, more that you know or understand right now.”

She slowly, slowly lowers me to the floor, which, in way, is just as impressive as swinging me in the air like a toy. Her grasp loosens, and I stagger slightly as my feet take my weight again. I’m stocky, muscular, but well-endowed; I tip the scales at 145 usually, but I’m running to 150 or so these last few months, with the good food around here.

Gwen reaches behind her, grasping a poker. I toddle backwards, afraid of what she’s going to do with it. Grinning, she hands it to me. 

“First, try to hit me. Come on,” she says to my incredulous look, “see if you can knock the smile off my face, human.” The last word comes out hard, haughty. A snarl. In return, suddenly a feeling of rage, intense and startling, sweeps through me, and the mental image of Gwen on the floor with a fireplace poker in an eye seems like a fun one. I’m tired of being tossed around; she hit me earlier. How dare she! 

I swing, putting my weight behind it, a wicked over-the-head strike. I know she’s going to block it, so at the last moment, I pivot and make it a side-to-side sweep, aiming for a temple. I swing like I’m Tiger Woods going for a birdie, and the force behind it makes my muscles tingle.

Her eyes open slightly larger, with admiration, not surprise, and her hand blurs up, incredibly fast, too fast for me to see it clearly. It grasps the iron poker and it’s like I’ve hit a concrete wall. Off-balance, I step towards her, struggling to keep my footing. I try to yank the metal piece out of her hand, and she laughs, tugging back. I fall into her, gasping. 

Gwen easily supports me, but hitting her body is like hitting a solid piece of rock. Marble. I bounce away from her, bruised, and her other hand snakes out, around my waist, and holds me on my feet. Her chuckle, bronze in the night air, sends an atavistic thrill down my spine. Longing and loathing fight for supremacy in my mind, and my body quivers in her embrace.

Standing me up firmly on my feet, she plucks the poker from my hand easily. She hands it to me again, the shark-grin still on her tanned, beautiful face. “Now, since that seemed to impress you, Erin, let’s try something else. Bend it. Now,” Gwen commands me.

I look down at the wrought-iron poker, and wonder. What does she mean? I mean, this is iron. I can’t bend it! I try, anyway, being hard-headed, and the effort makes my arms tremble. Uurrr…the groan escapes me as I attempt to bend it, even slightly. The metal, of course, isn’t a bit bothered by my efforts, and remains in its original shape.

The Draka, that’s what she called herself, laughs delightedly. “That’s the old school try, Erin. But let’s see how I do with it,” and takes the poker from my sweating hands. Smoothly, without a trace of effort, she ties it into a knot, and hands it back. I look at it numbly, shock making my eyes go wide in the firelight. It’s a trick, right? Some kind of magic trick?

“No, darlin’, I don’t do magic tricks.” She picks up a piece of wood from the basket by the fireplace, and holds in front of my face. Her fingers, long and (from previous experience) very strong, flex, and the wood shatters into chunks and splinters. Her hand crushes the wood like I’d ball up a piece of paper. “Do you have some ideas now, what I could do to, say, a human?”

The idea makes me feel distinctly barfish, and I swallow, dryly. I look into her face, and nod, solemnly. “Yes, Gwen. I don’t think you need to convince me further on that matter. In fact, I really hope you don’t.” 

Brushing the wood debris from her black shirt, she smiles at me. “Good. I’m glad for that. As I said, it would be a waste, really, but don’t ever cross me, Erin. Not once. I’ll hurt you beyond your worst imaginings. As I said earlier, don’t try to lie to me. That annoys me, and believe me, an annoyed Draka is not a healthy thing to be around.” She sits on the couch, and pats the cushion next to her. “Sit.”

I sink down next to her, quickly, watching her face. “I can hear your heartbeat, your breathing. I can hear anything you subvocalize, say under your breath. I can see the patterns of heat on your body.” My mouth falls open, shocked. “And I can smell your emotions. You don’t stand a chance lying to me, and you don’t ever want to find out what the punishment is for trying. Am I making myself fairly clear, here?”

“Yes.”

The shivers are back, and I cross my arms, defensively. The back of my mind remembers dark caves, and hunting cats stalking in the night…the fear sits under my breastbone like a cold lump. The woman reaches out and touches my face, lightly, stroking down the side, then along my jaw. Her finger leaves a trail of fire behind it, and I flush, unwillingly.

“Things aren’t so bad, Erin. I know you enjoy serving me physically. And I’ve certainly enjoyed you; you’re a fast, willing learner with natural talent…talents,” she continues, glancing down at my chest appreciatively. “It will take some time for the adjustment to sink in, but then you’ll really enjoy yourself. You naturally knew I was dominant, anyway, in bed, and out of it, didn’t you?”

My head moves slowly up and down, the flush creeping down my throat to my torso. There was no question about that, and I know I’ve always enjoyed a dominant woman for a lover. But this one’s dominant with a capital “D”, and it frightens me. Excites me. I squirm slightly on the couch, aware of a growing arousal. “What’s a Draka, Gwen? And how far in the future are you from? I mean, what year?”

“Not the future, pretty pony,” Gwen murmurs, cupping my chin, sliding a long thumb across my lower lip. The blush goes to my toes, remembering what that name meant the other night…Gwen straddled across me, my head in her interlaced hands, drawing me up as she sank down, wolf-grin across her face, desire making me quiver, the scent from her loins turning me on like no aphrodisiac ever invented…a light shake of my chin brings me back to the here and now, and the red-headed woman continues, her voice a mellow purr. “A future; to be precise, 2446 AD, or Year 446 F.S. Final Society. My society.”

A tilt of the head. “Interesting. Despite being frightened out of your wits, not to mention your urine earlier, you’re still curious. So human. What’s a Draka, sweetlin’? It’s a long story. I’ll let you read up on it on the flight to Nassau tomorrow morning; it’ll keep you occupied. Put simply, we conquered the world, in the Final War, and rule the solar system. And for a while, I ruled that world, as Archon, in my original timeline, the Prime Line. And in the next few years, this lovely little version of Earth is going to have some…interesting times. It’s begging for conquest.”

Her hands part my arms, stroking me…ah, god, I wish I didn’t want her so bad…I mean, she just told me she’s not human, and now she’s doing this? Ah, no…oh, yes. Yes. The precise, feather-light touch of her hands drives me wild; I squirm, uncontrollably. Squeezing slightly, Gwen grins down: “And I know a certain human who wouldn’t mind a Draka conquest, right now. Am I right, peaches?”

I groan, softly, and she purrs. I mean, really purrs, a deep chested rumbling growl of pleasure. Somehow, it’s the most erotic sound I’ve ever heard, and my body yearns for more. More touching, more stroking. More strength bearing down on me, making me do things that surprise myself afterwards…My hands cover hers, caressing. Fire burns in my eyes, an ache too hot to be denied.

Her tongue flicks between my lips, teasing, promising. Then it thrusts past my parted lips, my teeth, filling my mouth with her. The moan than burbles up from my throat begs for more, and she slides on top of me, hands tearing the shirt off me, buttons popping. I don’t care, and move up against her crushing, always surprising weight. The night spins into the dawn, my mind overwhelmed by the Draka’s scent, her touch. Conscious thought’s banished for a few hours…


	5. Chapter Five

Chapter 5

I stretch as the seaplane lifts off with a bounding skip like a good horse getting ready for a jump. I watch my Household grow small beneath through the porthole; feeling loose and relaxed and good, appetites satisfied for the moment, rested and ready for the day. The stink of burnt hydrocarbons is something I’m used to by now, and faint anyway inside the seaplane’s hull; it’s fitted out as an office and sitting room, with chairs, computers, couches, a bulkhead between this and the pilot’s compartment. Travel is so slow on this Earth; no point in wasting time. 

Dolores is hard at work by her console, but looks up and smiles at me for an instant. I smile back, feeling the warm satisfaction she brings me; my first bond-link with a human in this world, a good omen for its eventual fate. She’s nearly as tame as a servus now, even her scent has changed since I first took possession of her. But don’t forget that she isn’t a servus. Humans are more chaotic, and there’s a sharp edge to her scent that reminds me. Still, they’re interesting. Challenging.

Erin is more subdued, dark circles under her eyes, huddled in her seat and looking through the hardcopy of the file I’ve made up for her. It’s a brief history of the Domination, starting from the breakpoint where this time-line and mine diverged. Quite accurate, but I’ve toned a few things down to suit local sensibilities.

Poor little human, I think, looking and taking her scent; there’s a hunger-inducing edge of fear to it, but not much defiance any more. Very dark circles. She didn’t get much sleep last night. I didn’t like hitting her, but it was necessary, that once at least. I’m very glad she chose to submit and live. She’s… nice, I think that describes it. I like her; besides being a good worker and a good mount, she’s fun to have around, and her laugh’s amusing. Intelligent, too. An agile mind, the way some humans are. A pleasure to own. It will be good to get closer to her now that she’s been told the truth.

It was exciting, too, using her without a need for pretense, without having to avoid things a human couldn’t do. The way her terror faded into obedience was absolutely delicious. She looks up at me again.

“Why did your… Ancestors make you so different?” she says.

Alert, curious. I like this human. She reminds me a little of Jennifer; I hope I’ll be able to acquire her, too, when we get the New York operation set up. 

“We were their…what’s that expression? Wet-dream?”

That startles a chuckle out of her, even now. I join it, remembering Mother’s wry envy of the way I could manipulate the serfs… mostly human, back then. Some of the last of the Ancestors were a bit melancholy in their last years, with only their ancient selves left of the Old Domination. Mother was glad to go, at the end. The last word was Gwen, but I think it was her lover she meant, not me. I go on:

“And what they dreamed, we live. Their inner ideal of themselves, made flesh.”

“How… how do people live, in the Domination?”

I hear Erin subvocalizing; slavery…chains, whips? 

“It’s slavery, all right,” I nod. “But we moved beyond any need for that crude sort of thing long ago.” Mostly. “The Ancestors called it serfdom, but it’s chattel slavery, right enough. Here.”

I move over beside her, and bring out my little recorder. Thank the nonexistent gods for sentimental gestures, I think, glad I kept it. It’s very useful. Her heart speeds a little as our legs touch, and there’s the faintest quiver from her; my heart melts at the feel. She needs direction, but what a splendid specimen she’ll be when she realizes her potentials!

Her eyes grow wide as I show her a few scenes; Earth, Mars, a momentum-transfer drive’s silent lifting of a big liner, my place in North America, the old Ingolfsson estate in Tuscany, Archona… 

“When we’ve got the link established, I’ll take you – and a few of the others – on a tour,” I say. “A vacation. You’d enjoy Mars, I think. And in the crater-domes on Luna; the gravity’s light enough there for humans to fly with wings.”

I call up a scene of a pleasure-dome on the Moon, and great shapes wheeling like condors through the vast green spaces.

Erin brightens a little. “What are the servus like?” she asks.

“Well, here’s Andri, one of my own,” I say. Andri is dancing in the holograph, his teeth flashing as he glides through the measures, feathers and jewels twinkling in his long brown hair. I sigh; my kin will be looking after my chattels well, but I still miss them. And they will me; grieve, if they think I’m dead. Longing tugs at me for a moment, and I put it down with an effort. “I hope he isn’t too downhearted. And this is Claestum.” I show servus workers picking olives, loading baskets with the green-black fruit. 

Erin subvocalizes surprise. No machines?

“Not for that, we prefer hand labor, although with our biotech it isn’t very arduous labor. We could have all our food manufactured by molecular assemblers – but we like to stay in touch with our roots. We’re efficient when we need to be, but profit isn’t a driving force with us. Here’s a little more home life.”

I show a servus family on their porch after the day’s work, the female nursing a child, sweet vine growing over the stone walls of the cottage, starred with mauve-and-white flowers. Children playing some running game down along the river below the manor house; then a coming-of-age ceremony, with a dozen young servus a year past puberty kneeling in flower wreaths in the great hall, smiling, giggling occasionally, casting shy glances at the Draka. Her cousin the Landholder coming forward to make his choice, leading away a boy and girl, then myself…

I sigh reminiscently. “A lot of them work in other fields besides farming and personal service, of course. Scientists, technicians, artists. Like you, more or less. We’re good owners; we don’t allow disease, hunger or violence.” Except among ourselves, of course, I think. But that doesn’t affect servus; or tamed humans.

Erin perks up a little. “Doesn’t sound so bad,” she says. I hope, I hear subvocally.

I nod. “You’re a quick learner, Erin,” I say, and let her feel my approval. “Even quicker than Dolores was.”

The Columbian looks up from her work. “I carried on a lot at first,” she said. “Gwen found me on the plane when she flew down to Cali, nearly two years ago now, I was a flight attendant. I offered her a lift from the airport, and then somewhere to stay… I didn’t have any idea what was going on, or why I was jumping into bed with the beautiful gringo half an hour later, or anything. Two days only before she told me everything, and that I was hers. It was scary, let me tell you, I thought I was going crazy for a while. All so fast – you’re lucky, Muhmis could take her time with you.”

“Muhmis?” Erin asks.

“That’s Tawlk – my language,” I say. “Special pronoun for use to your owner. If I was male, it would be Muhmas. Or to a Draka who’s not your own personal owner, Uhmis or Uhmas. The others will fill you in on the etiquette; when-and-if we get back in contact with the Domination, you’ll have to know it well. We Draka are a ceremonious people, and we set a lot of store by manners. Oh, speaking of which, there’s a little ceremony for you. Dolores, show her.”

I rise. So does Dolores; she walks over to me and kneels gracefully, then bends down to lay her head on my foot. Erin copies the gesture, a charming uncertainty and awkwardness in her movements. 

This can’t be happening, she thinks, and murmurs it beneath her breath without knowing she does.

“It is,” I smile, and reach down to her. “Rise, Erin d’Ingolfsson.”

She’s still confused. “I get a new name?”

“More like changing your surname.” I sit again and take her on my lap, a pleasant weight in my arms. “That’s formal acknowledgement that you’re mine – mine personally, and my family’s; of your obligations to me, and mine to you. You’re part of my family now, in a way.”

Erin relaxes against me, and lays her head on my chest with a little sigh. Her mind’s still working, though. 

“You’ve got obligations to me?” she asks.

“Mmm-hmmm. I’m supposed to see that you’re fed and cared for, disciplined if necessary, protected from danger, taught useful skills – that your life is happy and productive in a way suited to what you are. In return you submit absolutely and make my will your own. I’m a predator, but you’re not my prey any longer – I’ve caught you now, and you’ve chosen submission -- I’m your protector. Now you’re mine, forever. No more worries, Erin; no more fear; all you have to do is obey. You can rest.”

Erin sighs again, and I stroke her hair. Dolores smiles at her as she goes back to her work. It’s good that the Household serfs get along well; that’s a big part of making life at home a pleasant harmony. I’ll have them together tonight, I decide. They’ll both like that.

The human is relaxing against me, muscle by muscle; the defensive tenseness is melting away into acceptance, trust.

Life is good, I think, and begin to purr with drowsy contentment.


	6. Chapter Six

Chapter 6

The planning project seems to be moving along well, I think; thank all the gods and goddesses for CASE tools. That Systems Analysis class I had is really paying dividends; when I took it, I never thought I’d be using half of what we learned. I stand, stretching, arching my back, my hands above my head. I’m down to a lean and mean 130 pounds now, thanks to a year of daily workouts coached by my boss, Gwendolyn Ingolfsson. You get motivated around her, that’s for sure.

Peter glides in, his long hair braided behind him, with a shiny golden medallion at the end. “Dahling, how are you, you fine-lookin’ thang,” he grins, and pats me on the head. He’s tall enough to do that; no amount of working out will make me any taller than I am, 5’3”. 

“Just fine…how’s the WAN project coming? Want to tell me over dinner? Or are you too, um, busy?” I hint strongly, inwardly hoping he’ll say no, that he’s not too busy, and will eat dinner with me. I hate eating alone, even when the food’s fantastic. Which it always seems to be, for IngolfTech employees, especially so for Household Staff. I smooth my khaki slacks down, and do a few twists, side-to-side, to loosen up. Sitting at a desk for several hours makes anyone rather stiff, I think, and I don’t want to be! Stretch, girl, stretch!

My best friend answers pertly, “Well, I can, if you can, Miss Social Calendar. I rarely get to see much of you now, since you’ve gone Uptown. Willing to break bread with an old Squid buddy, still?”

“Of course I am, and I know—I’m sorry I’ve been so busy. I do call, though, so I haven’t been totally snobbish, now have I?” Waving my hand in front of the monitor to get its attention, I command, “Computer, idle.” It recognizes my voice patterns and obeys cheerfully, beeping once before dimming the flat screen and putting itself in standby, power-saving mode.

“Come on, I’m starved!” I poke Peter in the stomach, and beat him to the door, easily.

As we sit over our steaks, the daily, work-stuff is quickly dispatched. We’ve always been able to understand each other clearly about computers, something that should never be taken for granted, and once found, cherished. The tuxedoed server refreshes our red wine, and I pick at my baked potato. Peter sighs contentedly, and puts his fork down.

“You know, this is the life. Work that’s challenging, never boring, a great site, fantastic pay…cute guys everywhere…in your case, a cute gal, whom you have been seeing a lot of recently…and good food. Remember the galley at Orlando’s NTC? Jeeze, that was ba-a-a-a-d food. If you could even call it food.”

“Yeah, I remember cleaning those goddamned grease pits, too, and we danced with joy when they closed the recruit training center there. That was a snake pit, for sure. And yes, Peter, this is nice. I’m glad you saw that ad, you know?”

“Well, I read the paper, trying to be an informed, educated citizen…”

“No, you read it ‘cause you like the gossipy parts, and the soap opera summaries…”

We laugh at each other, and Peter raises his glass to mine. “Here’s to good times, and to best friends, even if they aren’t enlightened enough to watch The Young and The Restless.”

“More like the Elderly and Still Frisky, but okay. Good toast.” Glasses clink, softly, in the massive dining hall IngolfTech staff uses while at the Andros Facility.

“Who’s elderly and still, ah, frisky, I believe the word was?” A bell-like, slightly husky voice says, next to my ear. I start, even though I instantly recognize Gwen’s dulcet tones. She runs her hand through my hair, gently, smiling down at the two of us.

Peter stands, and I follow. It seems the natural thing to do in her presence. Gwen waves us to our seats, and then joins us. A waiter scurries over, and she orders a dessert, a slice of chocolate-raspberry cake.

Peter looks over at me, and winks. “Oh, we weren’t talking about anyone ‘round here, Gwen. Even though I could name one or two frisky folks...”

Peter doesn’t know our boss is over 400 years old, I think. Gwen’s heard my subvocalization; have to watch that, always. She shares a silent, secret look with me, briefly, and then turns the full force of her charisma on Peter. “Frisky folks sound fun. I always enjoy them a great deal. Best way to end the day; best way to start one. Don’t you think so?”

I find myself on the outside, looking in. Odd sensation. Her pheromones are affecting me, of course, but a year’s worth of conditioning, and training, by Gwen has taught me some control, although not much. Peter has none at all. This feels so strange, I think, and watch the color rise under Peter’s tan. I know I’m blushing, as well. Gwen stirs such disparate feelings in me…sometimes I want to smack her, sometimes run for dear life; other times I’d give anything in the world to have her hold me, touch me. When we’re not being sexual, which is what we seem to spend a lot of time doing, she’s fascinating to talk with. To view the society I’m so used to from alien eyes…she can be funny, too; a perverse sense of humor is something I’m discovering about her, especially recently. I’m careful; I don’t subvocalize this.

“Why, d’accord! I agree, completely,” Peter replies, reddening under her steady, direct gaze. “That’s my philosophy; isn’t that one of yours, Erin?” He’s hoping I’ll bail him out, I think, and become aware that Gwen’s using her pheromones. The frisky ones. My body reacts almost instantaneously, and I see Peter’s eyes growing larger.

“Um, sure, old boy. One of them,” I manage, and discretely pat the drops of perspiration off my upper lip. The wine, cool and tart, tastes good; it helps cool me down. Gwen’s been busy the last few days, hosting some financiers from Wall Street; I’m sure she slept with the woman securities analyst, a Jennifer Feinberg. That doesn’t bother me, since Gwen isn’t what you’d call a girlfriend; more of a mistress, with a capital M. That fact doesn’t faze me anymore; having a year to get used to things has helped tremendously. It does take a tad of time to grok that your boss is a non-human time-traveler. Just a tad.

Gwen’s hand, partly hidden by the tablecloth, moves onto Peter’s thigh, and I see the cords in her arm move as she strokes him. Others in the general area are blushing, adjusting ties…responding to the pheromones. It’s stronger the closer you are, and I’m about to fall out of my chair. I know Peter is about there, too, since she’s projecting so much at him. Even without the chemicals, she’d be a hard woman to say “no” to, for anyone. I sense Peter’s growing confusion, and note the blush avalanching down his face and neck.

Peter’s always been 100 percent man-only; he admires women, likes them, just never wants to sleep with them. We’ve had long discussions about this; he was rather shocked to learn I had been with men, since I’m primarily gay; I had had some nice male lovers, but I never felt the way I did with women when I slept with men. It just wasn’t the same; fun but more like PT than anything else. With Gwen, it’s completely different; tremendously overwhelming, frightening, like being mauled by a tiger in human form. Her Draka strength, agility, and years of experience, added to her high libido, keep several of her inner circle running flat out to keep up with her, myself included.

Obviously, she’s decided to include Peter, at least at the physical level. I’ve been very careful over the last year not to reveal anything about Gwen’s unusual past to Peter, or anyone else outside the inner circle. That would be a gruesome road to death. Pat, a secretary, and a guy named Edgar, who was a legal assistant, had both made the same mistake, of trying to tell outsiders about Gwen. That won them the honor of becoming fish food, at Gwen’s more than capable hands. They had “resigned”. Mm-hmm. Permanently. I hope she brings Peter on board; it’s been so hard not to tell him anything. And he is cute, if I do say so myself.

“Why don’t the three of us continue this chat in my quarters? So much more room to get comfortable there, isn’t there, Erin?” A shark-smile to me, even white teeth gleaming in the candlelight. I nod, unable to speak coherently. The two of us? Can she possibly be thinking…

“Yes, my dear, I am thinking about the pretty pair you two make…you’re both sweet little humans; it’ll be fun. Believe me,” she whispers in my ear, tickling. I shiver with anticipation, and some apprehension. It was times like this that it hit you, what it meant to be owned. This was going to happen and our opinions just didn’t matter at all. This will be different...

The three of us leave the dining hall and walk to her Household, its whitewashed stone blocks almost blindingly bright in the full moon’s light. One long, strong Draka arm is around my waist, the other around Peter’s, who is speechless, and seemingly having a bit of trouble walking. Poor dear.

In her bedroom, she strips easily from the cool linen dress she has on, and stands nude in the patch of moonlight spilling into the room. Peter’s goggling at me as I slowly strip, folding my clothes neatly at the foot of the bed. It’s natural for me, now; I sink to my knees, as I’ve learned to do, to wait her pleasure. This isn’t a game; it’s real life. Intense, mind-boggling, real. Peter, red-faced, stands uncertainly, hands clasped in front of him, nervous. “Um, this is…I mean, Gwen, I’ve never…well, gone for women… ah, I’m sure you two would be happier if I just, ah, bowed out…hate to disappoint anyone…”

“Disappoint? No, pretty boy, you won’t disappoint either of us. Not at all,” Gwen murmurs, and approaches him, gliding noiselessly across the floor…

**  
Words of power are killing me, while the sun displays its teeth  
All mockery is laughing; all violence is cheap  
She said: these are my guns.   
These are my furs…   
This is my living room.  
You can play with me there sometimes if you catch me in the mood…  
Savage…savage…savage…you savage.

She said: I have this unhappiness to wear around my neck;  
t’s a pretty piece of jewelry to show what I protect…  
She said: everything is fiction,   
All cynic to the bone;  
So don’t ask me to stay with you, don’t ask to see me home…  
Savage…savage…savage…you savage…

The Eurythmics’ Annie Lennox whispers acidly in my head for a moment, as I come to the end of the run, and I wonder why that song in particular, Then I think about it. 

The ocean smells salty, a tang of iodine, the sweeter scent of inland flowers coming to me intermittently. I jog along the hard-packed beach, sweat already pouring down me, even at this early hour. I make it to the steps of the pavilion, and sink down on them, wiping my face with the towel Peter offers. “Thanks, dear. Whew…”

“Erin?” His voice, quiet and worried-sounding, brings my eyes up to his. “What in the world happened last night?”

“What do you mean? It was pretty obvious to me…” I laugh, and blush.

“No, I mean seriously. How does she do that? I’ve never entertained a thought about women, sexually speaking, in my life. I’m just not wired that way. But I was responding to her like she was one of Tom of Finland’s studs come to hot and heavy life…” he hangs his head in his hands, sniffling.

Peter’s crying? God. I’ve seen this maybe once, or twice, if you don’t count Barbra Streisand movies; this is serious. “Hey, come on, Peter, it’s okay. Really—she has that effect on everyone. Straight or gay. Tom’s mostly gay, you are too; you both respond like, like, stallions or something. It’s just as strong a response as I have; Alice and Dolores, both straights, respond to her, too. Vulk gets all flushed and sweaty around her; you can’t help it. It’s okay.” I hug him, gently.

“That’s what frightens me. I can’t help it. Neither can you, or anyone else. It’s not normal. You’ve been acting so different, like someone I don’t really know—complacent, or blown away, or stoned. You walk around with glazed eyes, half the time, Erin. And the other half, it’s like it doesn’t bother you. It used to, and we used to talk about it. Her charisma and all…it’s weird.” His voice, usually lilting and sweet, sounds strained, frightened.

How do I handle this, Gwen, I think. I can’t tell him; she has to. Otherwise, the consequences would be… drastic. 

“I know you’re frightened, Peter, I was too, until I got used to it, accepted it. I haven’t turned all of my mind off, you know. Yeah, it is a little weird, at first. But you enjoyed last night, didn’t you?” A blush, a cough, and a nod answer me. “Then why worry so much about it? You’ve made yourself all tense. Ought to be as relaxed as hell…after everything. I mean, I wasn’t expecting it either…I don’t want it to change our friendship, Peter…you’re important to me. You know that,” I say, tenderly wiping a tear from my best friend’s tanned-brown cheek.

We both turn, hearing voices coming toward us. It’s Gwen and Alice, who’s pregnant. It’s Gwen’s child, a clone, no less, but that’s like, top secret, I remember. God, when will she tell Peter about the mole hole, and the Draka? How they can save the world, the environment? If he could see the pictures in that flat notebook thing of hers, the one that starts out the size of a credit card, and grows…on her command. Even just seeing that, learning about the technology they can bring us… but the cynical, analytical voice in my brain whispers, tauntingly, silently, for what price?

“Good morning, Erin, Peter! Been out for a swim yet?” Gwen drapes her robe over the railing, and wearing nothing but a white smile on her café-au-lait tanned face, sprints down to the surf, as fast or faster than a cheetah, it seems. She runs headlong into the surf, splashing, and whoops savagely with joy. The sound rings back to the three of us, sounding like a brass war trumpet or something. It’s thrilling. She dives into the brilliant blue waves, and begins swimming, powerfully, out to sea.

“Gawd, she’s something, isn’t she?” Alice croons, watching her, her Australian accent strong. I nod, wordless; Peter merely stares, shocked at her speed. I guess since she’s showing that, she’ll be telling him soon, I reason, and move to sit behind my friend. I gesture for him to take his white t-shirt off, and he blushes. Oh, no, he doesn’t think that…oh, man.

“Peter, you need a back rub. That’s all. It’s easier without a shirt on, you know that. You love my back rubs. You have for a long time. I promise, nothing else.” Without Gwen in the equation, something’s missing, anyway, and I really don’t feel a heat of desire for this handsome man—like I did last night. He looks out at Gwen, her red curls bobbing in the turquoise water, and shivers.

“Oh, come on, Petey, what’s wrong?” Alice asks. “I heard Gwen enjoyed you a great deal last night, you and Erin, here. Embarrassment isn’t necessary—we’ve all been in your shoes—or bloody well out of them--in one way or ‘nother!” She sits down, by his legs, and gently hugs them.

Peter sighs, and shakes himself. “It’s just a really big change for me, Alice; Erin knows that. I wasn’t prepared to be seduced by Warrior Woman, there…not at all.” He shrugs out of his t-shirt, and I begin massaging him, trying to work out some of the tension. Alice lays her head on one of his knees, hands on stomach; I wonder what that was like—finding out your Draka mistress wants to use you as a brood hen? Alice doesn’t seem uncomfortable with it, although there were three or four days she wandered around looking rather concerned. Now she smiles a lot. I’ve noticed how protective and gentle Gwen is with her; from what Gwen’s told me, it’s considered an honor to be a brooder for a drakensis, in the Prime Line. I still wonder, though…

Ten minutes later, with Peter humming a show tune contentedly, finally relaxed, Gwen walks up to the pavilion, water beading off her skin, bright spots in the sunlight. “What a happy little group. Good to see it,” she says warmly, as Alice rises, handing her a terry-cloth towel. A feeling of approval, warmth, slides over all three of us, I see, judging by the grins. It feels good, reassuring. “The water’s wonderful, but there are lots of jellyfish today. I think the pool will be more fun tonight. Those dratted things squish so easily, and that feels less than charming. Besides that, it was a nice swim. Feeling better, Peter?” Her hand caresses his chest, and I see goose bumps raise up all over him. Not the only thing that raises up, either, and I’m glad he’s worn some baggy trunks. He chokes a little, and hungrily smiles up at her.

“Why don’t you two go and check on breakfast; we’ll have it by the pool. I’ll want to know about the status of the New York project, and the satellite WANs. Peter and I have something to…discuss…first. See you in a few moments.” Gwen takes Peter by the hand, and walks away down the white sand beach with him in tow. 

Alice chortles. “She’ll wear that pretty pony out; I hope he has some stamina! Let’s go check on breakfast, before she changes her mind, and drags us along, too! I’m not up for that much strenuous activity this morning, Erin. You?” 

“After last night, no way!” I reply, and pick up Peter’s discarded t-shirt. He can get it at the pool, later. Right now, it might be better to vamoose. Discretion is the better part, and all that jazz. Breakfast sounds good, too; I’m ravenous. Alice and I walk slowly up the path toward the House, chatting happily about work. Part of my mind aware of what’s happening down on the beach, in the surf…


	7. Chapter Seven

Chapter 7

You know, I think to myself, it’s sort of a relief to have Gwen in New York and me still here on Andros. I needed the break; she’s so damn intense. I pour myself a cup of coffee, savoring the rich, sweet aroma, and sit down at the kitchen table. Best place to think, and visit. Sunlight sprinkles in through the palm-shaded windows, patterns forming on the tile table top.

The last two and a half weeks have been hectic. I’ve been immersed in IEW charts and data dictionaries, planning out the system for IngolfTech NY. The CASE software makes it more organized, more stream lined, but it doesn’t make it any easier. Long hours, lots of flowcharts and network diagrams, lots of inventories to get approved: now Peter gets to plug it all in. Heh, heh.

He’s gone up to the Big Apple with Gwen, Dolores, Vulk (thank the gods…the further away that man is from me, the better), and Tom. I miss having lunches with Dolores and Peter; between the two of them, they nearly always have me laughing my head off over something. Their personalities play off each other, and all Alice and I can do is sit back and try not to choke on fruit juice.

Alice, from my initial impression, seemed to be focused on money, making lots of it. She seemed to be the blonde beach bimbo from innumerable 50’s movies at first, and I steered clear of her. Now that I’ve been promoted to Gwen’s staff, I’ve found myself reassessing the Australian woman. She is quite practical about money, and enjoying it, but she’s not the bimbo I thought she was. In fact, she’s quite intelligent and funny, once she loosens up around you.

I helped her organize her filing systems and her database system several months ago, when the work load from Gwen was keeping Alice red-eyed, and not just from frisky evenings. We sat down together for a day, and planned out what she needed, and it’s been a boon to her ever since. Her natural organizational skills aren’t so great, but she has a good mind for detail. It was nice to help her, and I think it really established a friendship. I didn’t have to do the organizational thing; I wasn’t ordered to by Gwen, but both Alice and I noticed how pleased Gwen seemed to be that we were working so well together. That matters a lot to both of us.

Alice has places in her head, rooms behind locked doors, that no one gets to. I don’t think Gwen even gets in some of those rooms. I wonder what it is that haunts her sometimes; you see it cross her face at odd times. I know we all have ghosts and scars inside, of course, since I have some pretty ornery ones myself. She never speaks of family or friends back in Down Under, either. Now that she’s carrying Gwen’s child, she seems so happy, so centered. She has a wicked sense of humor, that’s for sure.

The toast pops up, and I amble sleepily to my feet to get it. Sitting down, with some raspberry jam spread over the tan-colored toast, I prepare to take a big bite—uh oh. Hand over my mouth, I sprint to the bathroom, and barely make it in time. Man, that makes the third day in a row I’ve gotten sick, I mutter to myself, washing my mouth out with some Listerine. This has gotta stop. Nerves? 

You’re two and a half weeks late, too, whispers the arch voice in the back of my mind. Let’s see, late and getting sick…hmmm, what could that be? No way. I refuse to consider it. Nope. Just some bug I picked up, or nerves, or missing Gwen, or…

My god, I’m pregnant. Me. Oh, jeezie petes, I’m knocked up higher than a kite. Me? How…I mean, I know how, but just…Peter, Gwen and I had had one hell of a funky night two and a half weeks ago; we did things that shocked Peter, and he’s more worldly than I am…and we sure as hell didn’t have safe sex. And I’m one of those incredibly regular chicks; you can set your watch by me. My mind races…

Staring into the mirror, my face is pale; hazel eyes huge. What now?

Giving myself a good mental shake, I wash my face off, and try to think clearly. Andros Town, a few miles from the compound, won’t have what I need; I know who to go talk to: Shawonda, one of the nurses who manages to put up with Herr Doktor Hitler, er, I mean, Mueller. I’ll go talk with her and see what we can do. See what’s really going on.

Peering into the antiseptic-smelling, white-walled clinic, I look around, hoping Mueller is out doing something reprehensible, and therefore enjoyable, for him, and not in his office. The coast seems clear, so I wander casually into Shawonda’ s cubicle. “Hey, girrrl!”

“Say, Erin! What’s up? How’s life? Hear you got all promoted and everything; come down here slummin’ or something?” Her wide, bright grin lights up her dark ebony face. Shawonda is also ex-Navy, another Squid that I had met back in Basic at Great Lakes. We got her the job down here, and from what she’s said, it’s the best thing she’s ever had. Bubbly, curious, very bright, Shawonda also doesn’t take shit off anybody, not even Mueller. He’s learned to steer clear of her and to act a little less like a National Socialist when he’s around her. She’s incredibly competent as a nurse; level headed and talented.

“Waayul, Ah wuz jest a’walkin’ ‘roun’, thinkin’ on who Ah maight visit…” I sit down in the chair next to her desk, and laugh.

“You ole cracker! That dinner you and Petey had the other night was so cool. I loved it. And Jean-Pierre is one fine dude; Peter has an eye for ‘em, doesn’t he? I’ll have to figure out some nice but catty way to say thanks…” We had invited her over to Peter’s apartment the other night to meet Jean-Pierre, one of Gwen’s guards, who has a crush on her…it seemed to go over really well, too. I’m glad for Shawonda.

I shift, somewhat nervously, and my possum grin is pasted on. Shawonda looks past that, to my eyes, and her smile fades a little. “But you ain’t here for no social chat, are you?”

“No, ma’am.” My face reddens, and I wish I wasn’t so dang fair-skinned. As Alice says, it’s one of the curses of being descended from Irish folks. “Actually, I’ve a question or two, old girl. Confidentially speaking, of course.” My fake British accent sounds corny.

She nods, the beads in her corn rowed hair bobbing and chiming slightly. 

“I, um, that is, ah…oh, hell. How soon can you tell if you’re pregnant?”

“That depends, Erin. Are you really, really regular? Have you had sex, unprotected sex with a man, recently? Are you on birth control? Any signs of morning sickness, that sort of thing?”

“Yes, yes, no, yes.” My eyes meet hers, hazel into brown. They widen in surprise.

“But, ah, Erin, I heard that you and … ah, our fearless leader … were … an item.”

“Yep. That’s true. But something rather unusual happened two and a half weeks ago, and now I am wondering if something else hadn’t happened, too.”

Shawonda leans back in her chair, chuckling. “Doin’ the wild thang with some dude tends to make something else happen, Erin, if you aren’t protected…may I ask?”

By this time, my face’s crimson; people must be able to see it as a beacon miles away. In a tiny voice, I whisper, “Peter.”

Shawonda’s mouth drops open and she gasps, incredulously. “I thought, I mean, you, you’re, ah, you and he are both gay. No? Have I been mistaken all these years I’ve known the two of you?!” 

I sigh. “No, Shawonda, you haven’t been mistaken. Like I said, it was rather… unusual. I’ve never done anything like that before, and if the result is what I think it is, I ain’t doing it again!” It’s not like you had anything much to say about it this time, the tiny voice chimes in. Or any other time Gwen wants to. I try to grin, but it doesn’t quite work, turning lopsided.

“Hey, girl, hey now…” Her arms go around me. Instead of the solid muscles-like-steel and heat of a hug from Gwen, I’m enveloped in a warm, gentle, human hug from a friend. It feels so good; the tears rise even as I try to stuff them back inside. 

Several minutes later, I am patting my face with tissues that have tiny lions all over them. I stop, looking down at them curiously, and then meeting Shawonda’s eyes. “Lions?”

“Hey, they’re cute. I like them. It’s an African motif. They were on sale.” We laugh and she leans over, patting my knee. “Feel better, girlfriend?”

“Yeah, thanks…hope I didn’t make your shoulder soggy. This isn’t like me…”

“Now, everyone has a right to cry now and then; you’re just used to people crying on your shoulder, not the other way around. It’s ok. Now what about a blood test, to confirm what we both suspect?”

“Er. Ick. Ok, as long as I don’t have to watch. I can handle being around other people’s blood just fine, but seeing my own has a rather unfortunate effect on me,” I reply, tossing the wadded-up tissue into the trash.

“Don’t worry, I don’t want you passing out. Just a minute…” Shawonda gets up, and leaves her cubicle for a minute or two, returning with a little tray. In it are a couple of test tubes, a rubber band, and a syringe. She gets some disinfectant down from a shelf, and gestures to me. “Roll up a sleeve, any sleeve, Erin.”

The deed is done; I don’t look until Shawonda tells me it’s safe. “How long will I have to wait?”

“About five minutes. New process; all I have to do is run it down to the lab. Wanna go with me? We can chat on the way.” She gathers up the test tubes, throwing the used syringe and cotton swab into a hazardous waste container.

We walk together down the corridors, past labs and lab techs. IngolfTech’ s bio-wing is huge; Gwen has been pushing the contractors to finish as fast as they can, and within the last year, the compound has at least doubled in size. Some of these labs are humongous; hoods, vents, all sorts of scientific instruments. Busy workers in lab coats, the gold and blue IngolfTech logo on the chest pocket, hurry past us.

“Here we are…hey, Kim! How’s it going? Can you run this for me real quick-like?” Shawonda ushers me into the lab, and Kim, a pert Korean woman, the lab coat almost down to her heels, nods, taking the test tubes from Shawonda. 

“It’ll be about ten minutes, though, ‘Wonda, before I can run them. Say, 15 minutes to get results? Is that okay, or do I need to stop the run I’m doing now? Is this another priority run from you-know-who?”

The tall, ebony-skinned woman shakes her head, no. “That’s fine; we’ll go sit outside here under the banana trees, and visit. No rush. Just tap on the window when it’s through, and we’ll be in to get the results.” Shawonda and I walk from the lab, taking the nearest exit outdoors. The banana trees give adequate shade, and there’s a bench by them.

“So what’s going on, girl? I’ve known you for years; since you got promoted, you’ve been—different. And now this; this is certainly a change. Feel like talking about it, or am I being too nosy?”

I sit back with my back resting against the bench, crossing my arms. Have to be careful here, I think to myself, she’s not Staff, at least not yet. “I’m sorry if I’ve been acting strange or anything. A lot has changed and I don’t know…it’s all so different. Different from what I expected, that’s for sure. The job’s great, though, and so’s the pay. All the other stuff…it’s hard to explain.”

“Yeah, I hear you about the pay. Man! Best pay I’ve ever had. Good benefits, too. But the other stuff…I’m worried about you, Erin. Is there something you need to talk about?” Shawonda’ s eyes narrow with concern.

“Nah. I’m fine. Can’t really talk about some stuff, and some stuff I just don’t understand yet. What happened two and a half weeks ago, that was private, kind of, and I just don’t want to talk about it.” I see her look away, and hastily add, “Hey, Shawonda, you know it’s not a personal slam or anything. It’s just, I don’t know, I really don’t. When I can talk about it, you’ll get an earful, how’s that sound?”

Her eyes swing back to me, direct and questioning. “Can talk about? Is it something you’re afraid of, Erin? I can get you help, if you need it.”

This is making me as uncomfortable as hell. I stand up, arms still crossed in front of me, and begin to pace. “Nope, no help needed. Really. It’s cool. I’m cool. Everything’s cool. And here comes Kim to the window, Shawonda.”

Kim raps sharply on the glass, gesturing for us to come back in, and I follow Shawonda into the lab, my heart pounding.

“Ready for results? Do you need the printout, or should I just email it to you?”

“Yeah, we’re ready for results. Positive or negative?” asked Shawonda, taking the piece of paper from Kim’s tiny ivory-colored hand.

“Positive as anything.” Kim turns to look at me. “I can’t say much more, since it’s confidential, Miss Kane.”

Shawonda must not have put my name on the test tubes. “Oh, I understand. Perfectly okay by me, really. Hey, Shawonda, I’ll meet you out in the hall, okay?” I turn to leave, and Shawonda follows me, thanking Kim over her shoulder. The Korean scientist shrugs and smiling, returns our waves as we leave.

“She’s nice, but kinda spacey. I didn’t put—”

“I know, and thanks. Thanks. I take it ‘positive’ means the hypothetical rabbit died?” I look at Shawonda, wanting the truth.

“Yep. So, now what? You’ve got some choices to make. Are you alright, Erin?”

My eyes are full of tears. God, great, now what do I do? Since Peter was, um, there at the time, I guess I should ask him, but he’s with Gwen. And in a Gwen-inspired daze, too. Jeeze, this is the last thing I need. “Yeah, I’m alright. Just need some time to think, alone. Thanks for getting the test run through anonymously, Shawonda, I owe you … many… favors now!”

Bidding her a happy rest of the day, and promising to take her up on an offer of talking if I needed it, I wander back to the apartment. The walls seem to close in on me, suffocating, so I decide a walk along the beach would be best. As I walk toward the strip of white sand and blue waves, Alice spots me. “Heyo, girl! Wait up!”

Urgh. I’m not in the mood for cheery Australian-isms. But what can I do, snarl at her? I grin, instead; it’s still a baring of the teeth if you think about it, and return her wave. “Oh, hi!”

“Glad I found you before you wandered too far…Gwen’s coming back early; she’s due in about seven tonight, and she wanted…wait, what’s wrong, Erin? You okay? Hey!”

I sink down into the sand, holding my head. Oh, great, she’s back early. Do I tell her? What do I tell her? How do I tell Peter? What am I going to do?

“Hey,” comes soft and gentle, from Alice, who kneels down next to me. Her bright sarong and bikini top are like flocks of tropical birds come home to roost; I smile in spite of myself. Her arms go around me. Gee, I’m getting hugs left and right these days. Too bad I can’t enjoy it much, I wish.

“I’m okay; really, Alice. It was just…I wasn’t expecting them back early. What… what was it that Gwen wanted, anyway?”

“She called in over the radio, and said she’d like to have dinner with you. Lucky girl. You certainly seem to be a favorite, that’s for sure. She has a shitload of work for us to do, too, of course, but that’s par for the course. You okay now?”

“Yeah.” Looking over at Alice’s fair-skinned face, lightly tanned, framed in blonde hair, I smile. “I’m fine. Dinner, eh? Hmm. What time is she getting in, again?”

“Sevenish; which means a staff meeting, and then pro’bly dinner around 8 tonight. It’s just past 10 now, not even lunch time, so you’ve got plenty of time. Need to borrow an outfit or something?” Her delighted, slightly jealous grin flashes back at me.

“That’s okay, I have a few I haven’t worn yet. Peter keeps insisting on dragging me on these insane shopping trips to Nassau, and now I have a bunch of clothes. I’ll pick something out. I think I’ll go for a walk now; want to go?”

“Well, I’d like to, but I have that report to finalize on that securities firm that was down here a bit ago, and she’ll want to see that first thing, I know. So maybe, let’s meet around 7, and go over any last minute things before she arrives. Sound like a plan? Anything I can do to help you—lend you a secretary or something?”

I shake my head no, and stand, stretching. “I’m almost, knock on wood, caught up with current assignments. I just need to know what Peter’s been doing, and I can update my GANTT charts and all. That’s it!”

“You are a lucky dog, Erin! Here I am, typing me fingers to the bone, and you’re out going walkabout on the beach, for heaven’s sake!” A sandaled foot stomps into white sand, and she pouts, playfully.

“Woof!! Woof!!” I laugh, and stamp, too. “If you need any help, I’ll check in this afternoon and see what you can load me down with. Sound like a deal?”

“Yeah, great! I’d really, really appreciate it, if you’d help me a bit. The morning sickness has put me off my mark a bit, and I have to try and catch up. She said she’d get me more help, clerical staff, but sometimes it’s easier to just do it yourself. And you know my system, since you helped me organize it…see you after lunch, old girl!” Alice walks jauntily off, her sarong billowing in the brisk sea breeze. You can barely tell she’s preggers, as Alice calls it.

The ocean, during the day, soothes me. At night, too many memories from the Nimitz, and the deaths, come back to haunt me, but the daytime surf has a relaxing, hypnotic quality to it. I walk along the sugar-white beach, occasionally pausing to check out a piece of driftwood or a shell. I always find a handful to bring back; the shelling here’s great. Gwen’s gotten me some huge conch shells, from when she goes shark-hunting. She always brings me something. I spend the midmorning and early afternoon sitting on a limestone boulder, gazing out at the ocean, at the never-ending procession of white-capped waves sweeping in to shore. Thinking.

**  
In the heat of the night/in the heat of the day  
when I close my eyes/when I look your way  
when I meet the fear that lies inside  
when I hear you say/in the heat of the moment  
say say say/ someday someday someday  
Dominion  
comes a time/someday someday someday  
Dominion  
some say pray/ I say why?

The Sisters of Mercy song reverberates though my head, the sound up loud enough so I don’t hear the knock on the door. After helping Alice get organized, I’ve dressed, and I’m jamming to some mood music…the time at the ocean, thinking, hasn’t left me with any great answers, just more questions.

Gwen’s arm slips around my shoulder, and her kiss muffles my squeak of startlement. Even if I hadn’t had the ‘phones on, it would have startled me. She explained once that she places her feet down, instead of tapping them like we do. A Draka thing. The lyrics to the song seem eerily appropriate, and a shiver runs down my back, despite the heat pouring from Gwen’s body onto mine.

“‘Dominion’, Erin? Interesting. Rather a bit loud for you, though, isn’t it?” Her tanned face, leaf-green eyes holding mine, laughs as she plucks the headphones from my head, gently. She turns to put them down, and goes still. Not still like you or me standing still, but still like a cat about to pounce. Her nostrils flare, slightly, and she inhales. “You’re pregnant.”

It’s not a question but a statement. She must be able to smell it, the chemical changes in my body starting already…she’s already explained to me how much she or any other drakensis can smell—human emotions, drugs, individual body scents…I nod, still looking into her ancient, lively eyes.

“Well. That’s a surprise. Hmm, unless you’ve been practicing with Tom, or Vulk” a grin at my face of revulsion, “he’s really a nice pony ride, Erin. Despicable person, probably, to you, but he serves my purposes. As all of you do…it must have been the night I took you and Peter. Right? About three weeks or so ago?”

“Yes. Two and a half weeks, actually. I wasn’t sure how to tell you, but I guess I should have known you’d know. Or could tell. The question is, Gwen, what now?” I stand, next to her, and cross my arms.

“Sssaa, don’t be afraid. It’s alright. You are late for dinner, but that’s alright, too. Let’s sit a moment and talk, and perhaps listen to something more like music than this noise? ‘Hot metal and methadrine’? Don’t you have some of the classical CDs I gave you for your birthday?” She waves me to the couch, and flips through the CD rack, searching. Bach soon replaces Sisters of Mercy, and Gwen sits, facing me, long legs curled under her, catlike.

“It may decrease your work output a bit, and you’ll have to deal with morning sickness some, but other than that, you’ll be fine. You and Alice are close, anyway, and this will be a good bonding experience for you two.” Even white teeth flash in the twilight. As I turn the lamp on, next to the couch, I catch a glint from her eyes like that seen in a hunting cat caught in the beam of a flashlight—silvery green, mirrored for less than a second in her eyes. It’s things like that that give me the willies sometimes about her.

“Um, don’t I have a choice to make here? I mean, it’s my body, and I’m not sure I’m ready to have a baby yet. It’s all so unplanned. I just thought…”

“Choice? You made your choice, Erin, when you chose life over death. I make all the choices now, since you belong to me. You do remember that, don’t you?”

“Wait a second! This is my body we’re talking about, and it’s my right to choose. I might choose to keep it, or not, but it’s up to me, Gwen!!” I glare at her, my fists clenched at my sides, and after looking at her, wish I hadn’t glared.

Faster than I can move away, the Draka who owns me is inches from my face, snarling. Her lips curl up from her teeth, and a low, ripping, guttural snarl rumbles from her throat. Her eyes stab into mine, and fear rushes through me as she speaks, through the growl: “You’re mine, human. All mine. All this talk about your body and your choice is moot; not of any consequence to me, or you. I make the decisions. You obey. Or do you need to have a reminder why it’s not a good idea to annoy me?”

No, no, no; spastic, my head shakes back and forth. Once was enough; it took a week for me to be able to sit down comfortably, and the humiliation and pain was nothing compared to the raw terror I felt when she spanked me, holding me absolutely helpless. Not again. Never, hopefully.

The snarl lessens, and she leans back slightly. “You accept me on different levels, Erin, but not completely. You’re not domesticated yet; it may take years. But one thing you must remember: I own you. Don’t make the mistake of forgetting it again; that spanking is nothing in comparison to what you’ll get if you forget that. Understand me, wench?” Her voice is cold, clear; fell. I know what Tolkien meant, I think. I’ve heard her.

“Yes.”

“Yes, what?” It’s snapped out, her eyes hard, holding mine.

“Yes, Muhmis.” I swallow convulsively; sweat pours down my sides. The world has collapsed to this moment, this time; I’ve felt this before, when I was jumping from the deck of the Nimitz as she sank in the Gulf. This is danger. My life is in danger, and I’m terrified.

“Now, this is what will happen: As Alice bears mine, you’ll bear this child, and your child will be a birth present for mine. They’ll grow up together; it’ll be a good thing for Alexandra to have her own human to play with, to get used to managing one. No question about it, having one of your own is an education all in itself.” She looks down at me, and relaxes her aggressive stance. “On top of that, you and Peter are a pretty pair; I’d actually made plans to breed you once the Project is done. We’re just a bit ahead of schedule on that front. That’s fine.”

Oh my god. I can’t have any say-so about my own uterus? How about laws and stuff…part of my mind babbles, and my eyes swim. Tears trickle down my face; I can taste them, salty. A snuffle escapes me, and I try to stifle the others baying to get out.

“Your human laws don’t mean shit to me, pretty pony. Once the Project is launched, all those laws will be good for nothing more than kindling, or rags…here, now, don’t cry. It’s not as though I’m making you abort it, and you want to keep it. Him, I should say. It’s a boy,” Gwen continues, in response to my unasked but communicated question. She cuddles me to her, stroking my hair. “You’ll be fine; the best care we can do for you, and you’ll be birthing right around the time Alice does. It’ll be a good time, a good thing. It’s all right, Erin. I told you I’d take good care of you…”

“You…you…you had plans to breed me? Like I’m a cow?” The anger slips back into my voice, despite my best efforts to keep it out. Her hand stops stroking. Quieter: “Muhmis?” I make sure she can hear the respect in my tone.

“Yes.” A pause; I look up at her, and she’s thinking. A frown passes over the chocolate-brown forehead, and then she looks down at me. “Yes, I will breed you. Your genes are important to me. So are the genes of the other humans I’ve begun domesticating. Cattle? If you want to look at it that way, fine; I prefer to think of it as human management.”

I feel sick. She’s serious. Deadly serious. “You’re for real, aren’t you? Not a joke, not a crazy…all that stuff you showed me in the little credit-card sized thingy…”

“File folder, darlin’. And yes, of course I’m for real. That’s one thing I don’t understand about you humans; you can know, logically, that something’s true, but you don’t necessarily feel the truth. That’s so different, so alien. No wonder you have trouble keeping clarity of purpose.”

“Oh, god, Gwen…the Project; saving the environment…you’re going to bring more Draka here, aren’t you? Take over?” She nods. “Kill us all?”

“No, no, no, child. Domesticate you; do some genetic engineering, a bit, clear up some of the hereditary disorders. Then show you how this planet should be run. Move industry out into space, colonize Mars and Venus, after terraforming them; set up bases on the Moon and a few other satellites…no more war between you humans, no more starvation. We’ll kill only those who resist.”

“But…but…”

“The alternative? This planet’s becoming more and more polluted, and damaged, the longer you humans fritter away the resources…too much reproduction, too much of a chance that you’ll nuke the world into a coma. No humans survive that way. When we take over, things will be rough for a spell, but not for long. And you’ll only be humans for the first generation or so after the Project starts.”

“What!?”

“Humans, ferals, are far too unstable, too dangerous, to have around in large numbers. We’ll alter you to homo servus, after the first generation. We’ll want, though, to preserve the creativity you humans have; I think that was stunted, a bit, by all the genetic changes my forbearers put my generation, and later ones, through. We’ll work it out, Erin, and you’ll have a position of honor, by me. Responsibility, safety… you can help make things go well.”

Her tone has softened, and she’s stroking me again. The scent, no, her pheromones, I remember, slowly bring my pulse down from the place it’s been racing, and I feel oddly calmed. She’s calming me, drugging me. Gwen snuggles me closer to her, and continues:

“It’s important to me that I keep you stable. And I do want Alexandra to have a birth-present. We won’t be having a proper naming ceremony for her, so this will make up, in a way, for that. It’s okay, Erin. You made the choice. It’s done. Don’t worry about it. I want you to be happy, serving me. It makes everything easier. Getting hungry, pretty girl?” 

We’ve just discussed, and dismissed, my personal choices as a free human. Dinner, on the other hand, sounds good. She’s right…the choice had been made; I made it. I belong to her, like it or not. And maybe, just maybe, I can help make this Project thing go as peacefully as possible…it’s something to hold onto, in a place where everything seems to be slipping away. Into darkness. I shiver again, and press my face against her, inhaling. Calming.

“Yes, Muhmis, dinner sounds okay. I, ah, I’m trying…to get used to this…it’s so hard…”

“I know. I’ve domesticated, tamed, humans before. It’s not an overnight thing. Just trust me, and things will work out well for you, Peter, and the little boy you’re carrying now. I promise.” Gwen’s eyes are affectionate as they gaze down. I feel warmed, and relaxed. It’ll be interesting, anyway, the tiny voice inside me whispers. Interesting as hell.


	8. Chapter Eight

Chapter 8

I take another sip at the brandy, looking out the French doors into the night. Bright moonlight on the water tonight, making a road of silver across the waves. Surf breaks white on the beach, and I watch bats as they twist through the air in pursuit of insects, enjoy the multicolored light of the stars, crimson, blue-white, yellow-green. And fresh air again at last, sea-scent, stone, growth, clean human, dog, horse, the multitude of small lives that inhabit Andros. Perfume, after the sewer and exhaust stinks of New York; that was beginning to put me off my feed a little. Erin and I had buffalo-hump steak tonight, and scampi; the cook has learned to do candied yams to a turn, too. I savor the aftertastes, and then call the server over.

“That’ll be all, thank you, Audelle,” I say to her. “And do tell Francois that he outdid himself tonight.”

She smiles and bobs her head as she leaves, pushing the tray with the last of the used dishes. You should always remember to thank chattel, and praise them when they do well – my mother taught me that.

The staff meeting earlier went well too; Peter is a little absent-minded right now – the early stages of the bonding process are like that, for the submissive partner – but he’s basically very sharp, and the others have been working hard as well. A good team, I think. Especially since I got rid of that impossible little human who was running the info systems. Peter is infinitely better qualified; and very pleasant as a mount. He’s beginning to accept, too; I’ll give him a few days rest now, and let Tom and the others ease him into things. I’d have had to kill Skip eventually, I think. And I’d never have wanted to use him for pleasure, of course. So many humans are ugly. 

Erin has done wonders while I was gone, too, with the planning and helping Alice.

I feel pleasantly replete for the moment, toying with the last of the chocolate cake and fruit, alternating sips at the cognac and Blue Mountain coffee. 

No more than two glasses of wine for Erin tonight, of course; more wouldn’t be good for her. Must think of the fetus’ development, and humans are so fragile. She smells healthy, though. And looks wonderful, a bit of a glow to her from her pregnancy, and in beautiful condition now that I’ve got her exercising properly. That pale skin shows the patterns of blood-heat so plainly, and I toy with it by slowly raising the level of my pheromones. She’s adjusted well, feedback-training, and I can hear her heartbeat follow my subliminal commands as an orchestra follows the conductor’s baton.

Well worth the trouble I’ve taken with her. I feel a little glow of pride myself at the results of my training; she’s a possession anyone might envy, now. It will be fun showing her and the others off, when the Project is complete. I wonder how Tamirindus is doing? The accident won’t have done her position in the Technical Directorate any good. Alexis can be unforgiving to a fault; perhaps I kept him on too short a leash as a child. If he survived…

Erin is quiet, across the table from me. She scents of anxiety , still, as well as anticipation at what we’ll be doing soon. Strange wench. Those absurd things she said this afternoon, as if she could decide when to breed or not! Amusing, if I hadn’t been irritated at her impudence. But she’s working hard, and making progress. It’s annoying sometimes, so much harder than with a servus, but there’s a deep satisfaction when we get closer to a proper owner-chattel bond, warm and trusting. And a certain thrill to the necessary intervals of terrorization… I will be sad when she dies… so soon, no more than another fifty or sixty years, probably. Like flowers, they bloom and fade. That’s one of the drawbacks of being unaging.

Well, by then I’ll have her children. And, of course, she might outlive me. It’s a dangerous universe. Just because I’ve lived half a millennium doesn’t mean I’ll survive tomorrow.

I must, I remember. There’s my clone-child to consider now. So the seed goes on down the ages, I think and look Erin over. Hers too, to serve mine forever, through worlds and time. The thought makes me feel closer to her, a good feeling, linking, bonding, weaving the thread of herself into the tapestry of my life. Two more out of her, after this one, I think. Or possibly three. This planet is overpopulated, but there are plenty whose genes will be no loss. Perhaps I’ll have someone else bear the eggs, if it interferes with her other work too much.

“Strange,” I say aloud.

“Strange?” she says, looking up at me and smiling a little. 

“Strange how hard you find it to yield everything to me,” I say. “Every stage is a struggle for you, isn’t it? Exciting and frustrating at the same time, for me. It’s been so long since I dealt much with archaic humans; and those were mostly born-serfs in the Old Domination. They thought more like servus than like you.”

She ducks her head a little. “I’m trying, Muhmis.”

“I know, sweetlin’; and I appreciate it.” I smile. “You’re beautifully submissive most of the time now, and you can’t begin to imagine how… pleasant that is for me.” I reach over and stroke her face; she moves her cheek into the hand. “I need that from you, badly. It’s how we’re made. For a while after I arrived here, getting so little, it was like having an itch I couldn’t scratch. Maddening.”

“Well, I’m here to give you what you need,” Erin says, her smile quirking up a corner of her mouth. “That’s something I’ve come to grasp, you might say.”

I chuckle. “And you’ve got a talent for irony, too,” I say. Curious: “It feels pleasant for you, too, doesn’t it? When you’ve managed to… adapt properly.”

She nods, flushing. “Yes,” she says. “A lot of the time. As if I’d had a need forever, hadn’t known about it, and now I’m able to satisfy it; as if I’d been waiting for you, somehow. It’s really… restful. When I can manage it properly.”

“Good wench,” I say, happy, and let her feel it; there’s a subtle difference between the approval pheromones and the arousal ones. To me they’re like different notes in music, or two sweet tastes, one strong and one softer and more fruity. I can see the tension go out of the skin around her eyes as she relaxes into the influence, drawing in a deep breath.

“Perhaps we should take a vacation,” I say. “Just the two of us, or perhaps Alice and us. Go away for a few weeks; things are getting fairly well set-up. Yes. I’ll spend a few days tying up loose ends, and then turn things over to Tom for a while.”

She smiles with delight, and I bask in it, feeling her pleasure. “Thank you, Muhmis,” she says. “I could use a rest.” A quirk of the mouth. “And today has been… a bit of a shock, one way and another.”

I put gentleness into my voice: “It’ll be much easier for your son.” It’s natural for her to be concerned for him. Agelessness isn’t immortality; your genes are. And children are so delightful, even human ones. Cuter than kittens.

“Yes, he’ll be raised to accept it,” she says quietly.

I cock my head to one side; there are complex overtones in her voice, things I can’t quite place. No subvocalization, either, just a low humming. I nod.

“And he’ll be getting a very good start in life,” I say. “Being raised with Alexandra, they’ll be very close. The genetics indicate high intelligence, too – she’ll have important work for him, I’m sure, not just bed-duty. With me as her patron – I’ll almost certainly be appointed planetary ruler here -- and a whole planet just going under the Yoke, he’ll be a very important servant to her. That’ll give him extremely high status, boundless opportunities.”

“I’ll try to remember that,” Erin says. 

She touches herself on the stomach; well, she probably didn’t intend to reproduce, not liking males much. Odd creatures, humans. So… variable. I grin to myself, remembering taking her and the buck, Peter, watching his face as he seeded her – I couldn’t see hers at the time, but I could feel her moving underneath me. He just couldn’t believe what was happening, and I don’t think Erin was capable of conscious thought at all, right then. I remember my own sharp delight, half physical and direct, half the satisfaction of them so attentive to my desire, moving exactly as I wished, feeling what I made them feel…

There’s nothing like control, I think, stretching, purring a little. I feel good, ready to take Erin; not fiercely, the way it was when she was still new and unbroken, but… comfortably. Although there’s still a bit of an edge to her, depths yet to be reached and possessed and made truly mine. I’ve gotten to the final stage with Tom and Alice, now, and it’s wonderful. Not quite there with Erin, but I can tell we’re matching better and better.

Draka aren’t the only ones who can tell what’s going through somebody’s mind. Erin is already on her feet as I rise and lead her off to the bedchamber. She makes her submission and then gets onto the bed at my slight hand gesture; she does learn well. A House-raised servus could scarcely have done it better. I’m proud of her.

“Beautiful,” I say, as I join her and look down at her, moonlight moving on her pale skin as the palms sway, rustling, outside the windows. Her eyes are wide. She moistens her lips and shudders, reaching out to me.

I touch a breast. “The process has barely started – clear enough to scent, though – but I think you’re already a little bigger here. Pleasuring will get interesting as your body changes. Awkward in the later stages, and we’ll have to be careful, but… interestingly different.”

“Oh, God,” she says; goose bumps stipple her skin as I stroke her. Four centuries of experience and a year with her teach me exactly where to touch; I growl a little at her scent and the expression on her face, the way she bites her lip and whimpers at the sensations. So helpless, and so aware of it…

“Now,” I say. “While we don’t have to be careful –”


	9. Chapter Nine

Chapter 9

“You’re what?!” Peter gapes at me, his face crimson.

“You heard me. And you’re the only one, darlin’, so you’re the papa. And don’t worry; I’m not upset about it. Everything’s cool.” I stand, hip-shot, watching my best friend take the news that he’s the father of the child, the son, I’m carrying.

“But…I…how…” he stammers, pacing. “This was when Gwen and you and I…”

“Yes, dear.”

“Everything’s cool? What are we going to do, Erin? I mean, this is such a shock. I never thought…”

I grin at him. “There wasn’t a whole lot of thinking going on that night, as I recall. Lots of other things, but not a lot of cogitation. Copulation, though…” His eyes meet mine, and I regret my flippant comment immediately. “Oh, Peter, really, really, it’s okay. I’m okay with it. It’s going to be my responsibility. I’m keeping him. It’s okay.”

“Him? You know already?”

“Well…yes. In a way.”

He sighs. “Gwen has some way of telling, right?”

“Yes, she does, actually. She knew I was pregnant before I told her. Her sense of smell is much more developed that ours is. A hell of a lot more. Why do you sound mad at her?”

“Because…she seduced us. First you, now me, and now you’re pregnant because of us doing the wild thang with her. It’s all focused on her. It’s weird. Like I’ve said all along. And I’m tired of it.” He throws himself down onto my couch, arms crossed defensively.

Now it’s my turn to sigh. “Peter…don’t blame her, she didn’t yank an egg out of me, a sperm out of you, mix thoroughly, and then whack ‘em back into the oven, as it were.” I sit next to him, and link my left hand in his right. “Petey…don’t be mad. You’re just getting used to Gwen, that’s all. And it’s not like I’ve been foaming at the mouth or anything recently…I’ve even talked before, with you, about my desire to have a baby at some point in my life. This is it. That’s all.”

“But don’t you see how controlling she is? You’ve always been so damn independent, and now whatever she says is fine? That’s scaring the hell out of me. And what’s even scarier, I find myself doing it, too. Yaz, ma’am, whatever youse wants…”

Gwen hasn’t briefed him yet, and she has expressly forbidden me to tell him about her. That’s difficult, especially since Peter and I have never kept secrets from each other. “Look, there are some things you need to talk with her about. I can’t get into it with you. And no, I really can’t.”

He rolls his eyes, expressively. “Peter, don’t be bitchy about this. You don’t understand some things about Gwen. Once you do, it makes everything a lot more clear.”

“Oh, what is she? The Second Coming? Give me a break. It’s another power trip, and I’ve had it!” Peter pushes away from me, off the couch, and returns to his pacing.

There’s a slight tap at the door, and I quickly answer it. Gwen leans against the frame of the door, wearing her 1000-watt smile, a pale green silk blouse and a patterned skirt. “Good evening. Thought I’d drop by for a bit. Mind?”

“No, not really, Gwen. I was just telling Peter…”my voice trails off. Of course, she knows what I’ve been telling Peter, since our rooms are all under surveillance. Duh. “Please, come in. Maybe you can straighten things out for us.”

**

When Gwen wants something, it happens. The vacation was swiftly, competently planned and all details taken care of by Dolores the very next day. LL Bean certainly did well by the deal, that’s for sure. She won’t have anything but the best…several other camping outfitters got sizable checks too. Before Alice or I really knew it, Gwen had us boarding the float plane for Miami, there to catch a private jet out to Lake Tahoe. Alice was all a-bubble about it, but I was more subdued.

Gwen had had to slap Peter. His anger had surprised me, and apparently annoyed her. After the initial shock of the blow wore off, he became quite upset, and Gwen had held him still for almost an hour in my apartment last night. He calmed under the influence of her pheromones finally. 

It was so difficult for him to adjust; that, too, surprised me. I had expected it to be easier for him, especially if he saw that I was doing okay. He cried for a few minutes, Gwen still cradling him in her steel-strong arms, and then he seemed better. Not happy, certainly, but stable. Gwen spent a lot of time trying to explain things to him gently, but I’m not sure how much sank in.

Granted, not a whole lot sank in the first time she told me, and each time it comes up it feels like a kick in the gut. But I’m adjusting. Gwen, before we left, made sure Peter was going to be closely supervised, unobtrusively, by Tom and Dolores. I think she’s remembering Edgar, one of the office assistants. After she told him, he killed himself, quite messily. And I’m not sure exactly what happened with Pat, her former executive secretary. I know Gwen killed her, and that’s about all I want to know at this point. I think Pat tried to contact the news media, but who the hell would believe it? Breathlessly into the phone: “My boss is an alien from another dimension!” “Yeah, right, lady”. Click.

Not a mistake I intend to make. I hope Peter will be okay. He’s the one person in the world I truly trust, and love. Well, now there’s a certain someone who’ll be along in eight months or so, but that’s in the future. It’s not like I have family or anything now, I murmur to myself as the jet takes off into the humid south Florida sky.

Gwen leans forward, a finger marking her place in a book. She’s reading Mark Twain? “Erin, please don’t worry yourself about Peter. He’ll be fine. Really.” Her silken voice strokes me.

“You’ve never said much about your family, girl. I know your parents are still living…father in Nashville, mother in Atlanta. Tell me some about them…I’m interested.” Her leaf-green eyes flash at me, and she smiles. Her startlingly white, even teeth seem to glow in her deeply tanned, beautiful, long-boned face, and I find myself grinning back.

“Not much to tell, Gwen. Really. Mom and Dad got divorced when I was a senior in high school. But I was living with my best friend’s family by that point, anyway.” The memories surface, something I haven’t thought about for a long time, or wanted to. “See, I came out when I was 15. They were horrified. Having a queer daughter might mess up their application to the Country Club. It got really bad. I left home, and lived with my best friend and her family.”

“Your lover?”

“No, actually. We were just friends. We did go on one date, but it felt really strange. Uncomfortable. Finally, we just started talking about it, and discovered that we weren’t compatible that way…you know.” I blush, remembering the stumbling, adolescent conversation in the front seat of Luann’s Mustang.

Gwen grins appreciatively. “I know? Explain! This must be one of those cultural things I don’t understand yet. Compatible ‘that’ way?”

“Uh, well, um…she was very fluffy looking, I mean, feminine looking, and I was a baby butch. Or at least I looked like one.” At Gwen’s confused look, I try to clarify things. “Er, in this culture, we’ve got gays and straights, right? And folks in between? Well, a lot of folks classify themselves as butch or femme, and each of those roles has certain, um, expected behaviors…it was confusing then, too. Believe me.”

“Hmm. So alien. Am I correct in equating butch with dominant, and femme with submissive?”

“Sort of. Kind of. Not really, but…anyway…I was acting like she was supposed to be femme, and I was supposed to be butch, and it wasn’t working.”

“You’re not dominant, sweetlin’. I know that,” she laughs.

“I know. Believe me, I know, too. Um, we realized we weren’t what we appeared to be, either of us. She was pretty dominant, and I wasn’t. But it felt better not to feel frisky toward each other. So we became really good friends. Her parents were really cool about everything…I mean, they were very accepting and positive. I just stayed there through high school, then I joined the Navy. And met Peter, and Shawonda.”

“Humans…such a confused lot. What would make your parents act the way they did? Do you have any desire to visit them now? We can.”

“No! Not after the things that were said to me. Ever. Or the beatings…Father used to whip me, thinking he could beat the queer out of me, I guess. He’s real “religious”. Works for some Bible group in Nashville. Or he did the last I knew.” I look out the window at the fields of white, fluffy clouds boiling up around us. My ears finally pop, and I yawn.

“No, I don’t want anything to do with either of them. I was an only child, too. The only ones I miss in my family are my grandparents, on both sides, and they’ve all passed over now. I always loved going to their homes in the summer, or on winter vacation. Mother and Father would drop me off, relieved to be free of me. I guess I was a curious little kid, lots of questions. I hated having to go home again.”

Gwen runs a slender-fingered hand through her mahogany red hair. “I just don’t understand. It’s a spectrum of behavior, as much genetic as behavioral; nothing wrong with it. That’s certainly a difference between our cultures, that’s for sure. Sounds like your parents had their heads up their asses. Sorry. That’s my opinion. Perhaps I should pay them a visit…”

“No, Gwen! Really. It’s not worth it. I don’t care about them anymore; that’s worse than hating them, I guess. I just don’t care anymore. They might be my biological parents, but that’s about it. My grandparents, and Luann’s parents, took their place in my heart a long time ago.”

“Where’s Luann now?”

“She died. My second year in the Navy. A drunk driver hit her on her way home from work. She never knew what hit her. Her parents used to live near Savannah. They were really nice folks; passed on a few years ago, one right after the other. They had a really nice beach house out by Fort Pulaski, too. I miss them, still. I stayed with them for a few weeks after the Nimitz…” 

I look again out the window. Instead of bright blue sky, and cloud castles, I see Spanish moss, deep midday shadows offering coolness…remember the scratch biscuits Luann’s mama could make in her sleep; home-cured ham; the sweetness of lemonade on the porch, in the rocking chairs, watching the big red sun sink into the low hills. The scent of magnolia blossoms, and the dry, cool hand of Helen, Luann’s mama, calming my nightmare-wracked sleep. Good people.

“Sounds like they were good people,” Gwen says, and strokes my face gently. “Good place to heal. I know what that’s like, and how important that is.” She pats the seat next to her, and I move over, snuggling next to her. It’s times like this I can actually feel close to her, even though she’s not human and from a place so completely different from ours…her fingers run through my short, blonde-streaked hair, and I sigh with contentment. Alice, asleep across the aisle from us, moves under her blanket, sighing.

Gwen shifts slightly, and places the book on the seat opposite that I just vacated. She looks down at me, and cups my chin. Her kiss is gentle, and smooth. The rest of the world seems to fade away as I sink into those eyes, feeling that touch…

**

“Here we are!” The mountain air is chill, refreshing. I look around, stunned at the height and sharpness of the peaks surrounding us. “Wow!”

Alice comes out of the car rental place with Gwen, laughing. “No, Gwen, I think either Erin or I should drive, at least until we get out where there aren’t other drivers. I think you’d end up just running over people in frustration. Okay?” She tosses her blonde hair and eyes our boss, our Muhmis, appealingly, flirtatiously.

Gwen joins her in laughter, her clear bell-like, supple voice ringing out into the morning. “Since you asked so nicely, alright. But I want to try one of these things eventually. Once we’re out in the woods, perhaps. It should be fun.”

The camping equipment doesn’t take a long time to load, with Gwen doing most of the heavy lifting. She shushes my appeals to help her, and I climb into the back of the Jeep as Alice takes the wheel. Gwen finishes loading, closes the hatch, and joins us in the small truck. “We’re off, then…for our little vacation,” she says, her eyes bright with excitement.

The mountains hover around us, shutting out some of the sky; the roads are tremendously steep and curvy. I stop looking down after a few of the nastier curves, deciding instead to concentrate on the vistas, not the valleys. Gwen consults a map occasionally, giving Alice directions on which road to take. One of the main contractors for the construction of the New York IngolfTech project gave Gwen the keys to his lakeside cabin, and that’s where we’re going.

It’s out in the boonies, sure enough, I think to myself. The traffic has died down to nothing; we’re the only vehicle on the road. After stopping at a scenic overlook for lunch, we drive on, this time with me at the wheel. I pop a tape into the player, and Alice guffaws.

“Rocky Horror, Erin? Why in the world?!”

“What in the world is this?” She looks at the tape holder, turning it over in her long-fingered, tanned hands. “The ‘Time Warp’? The Rocky Horror Picture Show?” Gwen’s voice sounds amused, so I keep the tape in. “It’s astounding…time is fleeting… madness takes its toll…but listen closely…not for very much longer…I’ve got to…keep control… I remember, doing the time warp…”

I grin. “I thought you might like the songs…maybe this one: ‘Time Warp’?” The song kicks in, and Gwen listens, with a quirk to her lips. Finally, she bursts out laughing. Holding her sides, she gasps for breath and pounds the passenger side door armrest.

“Ooops, Race Spirit, I broke it off,” she exclaims, and laughs even harder. “Ah, gods, your sense of humor, Erin…I haven’t laughed so hard since…since Alexis fell into the horseshit when we were jumping the breaks at Claestum…ah, me!” She holds the armrest in her hands, still chuckling. “I guess we’ll have to pay for this. How funny…”

**

Looking out the double French doors of the chalet’s spacious kitchen, I sip slowly on the steaming cup of coffee. The rich smell seems to wake me up more than anything, and I need something to wake up with, after last night’s rather strenuous but enjoyable pastimes. Gwen certainly has some unusual ideas, but they always seem to work, and work well at that.

The air’s chilly and fresh; a scent of pine trees flows in through the open doors. I’m nice and comfy in my terrycloth robe; actually, it’s Gwen’s, since it reaches almost to the floor on me. Her scent, her personal odor, I guess, is on it; I move my face into the fluffy collar and inhale. It’s not a bad smell; it’s not a sweaty one; but it’s her. Distinctively her. I sigh with contentment. If only Alice didn’t snore.

“True, but she makes up for it in other ways, darlin’,” purrs a voice next to my right ear. I cough slightly, inhaling hot coffee, and Gwen gently pats me on the back. “Good morning. You’re up bright and early, younglin’.”

“That’s me,” I manage after a moment of nursing my somewhat scalded throat. “Bright eyed and bushy tailed.” I lean against her, so solid and warm, and her arms encircle me.

“Bright eyed I can see…let’s find out about that tail, though…” Her hands roam.

Ah, no, this woman’s unstoppable. I would have thought she’d be satisfied by last night, I think to myself, and groan, slightly. Gwen laughs, delightedly.

Still laughing, she nuzzles along my neck, nipping, kissing. She takes the cup of coffee from my hands and sets it down on the counter nearby. Thrills race down my back as she caresses me, and conscious thought’s fading fast. Gwen strips the robe from my shoulders, pinning my arms to my sides, baring the front of me. A stray chuckle wanders through my mind…if Bigfoot walks by, he’ll get an eyeful or two…

“Muhmis…” as her hands touch me; intricate, delicate tracings of fire follow her fingertips across my skin. “Muhmis, please, let me turn around…”

“No,” Gwen murmurs. “I want you like this. Now. Like this…”

I surprise myself and her by struggling a bit. “Please, Gwen…I…I…want to…”

Her voice firm, Gwen replies, “No. Like this. I want. Oh, I want.” And she takes me, standing, in front of the French doors, overlooking the lake, the mountains beyond, the sun rising in the bright blue sky…

Something within me changes, breaks…I buck wildly against her strength, reveling in it, rejoicing in it. Surrendering to it, like I’ve never done with anyone before. The feeling threatens to overwhelm me, and I cry out her name, not her title: “Gwen!”

“Ah, sweetlin’, ah….” Gwen nips me, delicately, on the throat, purring loudly in my ear. Her arms are so strong; her hands, touching me, so intense. As the orgasm sweeps over me, I cry out incoherently, collapsing against her. She stiffens, her own body responding to mine, and we’re locked in an embrace for what seems like an eternity.

Shaken, tears begin to roll down my face. I’ve given something to her I’ve never given anyone else; I’ve never felt so intensely before, and it frightens me. If only she were human, the tiny voice, always present, whispers silently to me, and I whimper. Gwen sighs, a long, breathy one, and loosens her grip a bit.

“Good morning!” Her red hair blends with my brown-blonde curls; the reflection in the glass panes of the door facing us is a portrait in contrasts. Tall, short; red, blonde; drakensis, human… “Ah, that was nice, even if someone couldn’t turn around, now wasn’t…what’s wrong? Why the tears? Was I too strong?”

Her voice’s full of concern. She really does care for her own, in her own way. But it’s genuine, not merely conversational. I shake my head, no, and try to speak. My voice is silent, though, and the tears continue leaving their trails across my tanned face. I realize she’s loosened her hold on me, and I turn into her embrace, burying my face against her neck.

“Ssssaaa, little one, what’s wrong? Talk to me now. You cry at the oddest times, girl. You cried at that movie we watched last night, what was it, ‘The Color Purple’? And now you’re crying again…” Gwen’s voice trails off, and I hear her inhale deeply. And again.

I’m breaking to her will, I realize. Oh, my God. More than ever before, this time something has happened. Something I’m not sure I’m ready for, or truly comfortable with…I feel her arms sweep me up, cradling me, and she chuckles, kindly, as she carries me over to the couch by the fireplace.

“I know, now. It’s all right. Truly, Erin. It’s all right.” She sits us down. “I understand the tears now. I know how hard it is for you; you seem to break through in layers…it’s all right.” Gwen rocks us for a few moments, and my tears slow. She pulls the robe back up around me, and snuggles against me. Her purr is deeper, sounding of contentment.

“Well, good morning to everyone. Was that the wake-up call?” asks Alice, sauntering into the room and sitting down on the couch next to us. I grin, despite myself, at her cockiness. 

Gwen slides an arm free from me and hugs Alice. “I’ll let you do the lunch call, dear.”

**  
Sitting on the dock, I am contemplating the waves running in from the lake. This morning was intense, that’s for sure. I’m still not sure exactly what happened. I’m still not sure if I like it or not. My hand goes to my stomach, and I smile. At least this is a natural process; I could be carrying Gwen’s clone instead. The thought of the life within calms me. I have to think for two, now. And for Peter. It was easier when it was just me, and the decision I made affected just me.

Alice sits down next to me, and hugs me affectionately. “Heyo, chick. How’s it going? You’re not still having morning sickness, are ya?”

“No, that seemed to clear up pretty rapidly, thank the gods. No, I’m okay,” I smile at her.

“You just seem sort of quiet. You’ve been galloping around, quoting Monty Python, and making us laugh, and now you’re down here contemplating your navel. Not that that’s a bad thing. I was just wondering.”

“Um, well…this morning, something odd happened. I didn’t mean to yell, and wake you up. That was, er, involuntary on my part. Sorry.”

“Oh, honey, tell me about it. Nah, I don’t mind it when she gets us going. In fact, I kinda like it, actually. I’d never been with a woman, y’know. Always thought it was men only. Speaking of, I’m bloody glad it was Gwen, and not her twin brother or someone, that came through the mole hole. She’s hard enough to keep up with, but a male Draka must be worse. Men are such randy old things, most of the time,” Alice laughs. “Oh, I guess you wouldn’t know much about that, though…”

“Oho, yes I do. When your best friend is a gay man, you learn more about men than Esquire can tell you, that’s for sure. And I’ve been with men, a few times before. Before all this. But it just wasn’t it, you know?”

“Yeah.” She looks out, over the water, eyes narrowing. “Yeah, I know.”

Glancing back at me, her face clears of the memory cloud, and she smiles. “You really did break to her this morning, didn’t you?”

“Um, well…I guess so.”

“I’ve been there, done that. Remember? I know, girlie-girl. I know. It’s scary as hell, but thrilling, too. Almost addictive. You get used to it in time, but the thrill never seems to fade.”

“It would be really nice, Alice, if she wasn’t setting out to rule the world. And the solar system.”

“Hell, somebody’s got to be in charge.”

“Do you really think that way, or is that the post-Gwen cerebral mode?” I blush. “Sorry, didn’t mean to snap. Really. Tell me what you think.”

“Someone’s always in charge, and I’d truly rather it be Gwen, someone I know a bit, someone who actually cares about me, than some fuckin’ bozo I don’t know. She’s not sadistic; she may have some eccentric ideas, but that’s ‘cause she’s from another culture, another race. When she’s in charge, it may get bad for a bit, but we can help things. Help make things go better.”

“But what about that tiny concept, you know, freedom?”

“What about it? Someone who lives with his water buffalo in a rice paddy will be better off when they’re here; most people’s lives, even here in the US, won’t change that much. They’ll be like the servus she tells us about. Most of them can go a lifetime and maybe see a Draka once or twice. Yeah, some things’ll change, but for the most part we’ll be…”

I cut her off, “Slaves.”

“Like we aren’t slaves to someone already. Hell, I was a slave to my boss, my bloody Pa, the whole bloody thing…you get a job somewhere and they think they own you. Then they treat you like shit, ‘cause they know they can. ‘Plenty more where you came from, chick!’ How many times have I heard that, Erin?” Her eyes turn grim again, and she stares at me. “And now I’ve a chance to be someone, someone with influence, prestige…power. Wealth. That’s what it’s all about.”

“Okay. Okay. I don’t want to argue with you, darlin’. I’m just not where you are…yet. I can see where you’re coming from, though. It’s okay. Don’t get mad, Alice.”

“Nah, not mad at you. I was just rememberin’ some old shit. Sorry ‘bout that. It takes some time, Erin, but eventually you’ll come round. I know you will; I just feel that way.” She pats me encouragingly on the shoulder and stands up. “Come on up to the house for lunch, old girl. Almost time.”

“Maybe I should let you go first, since Gwen said she’d have you do the lunch call…since I did the breakfast yodel…” I laugh, gently prodding her ribs.

“Oh, lord, I hope she’s satisfied having had you this morning. I’m still tired from last night.” We walk together up the path toward the house. “Can I ask you something?”

“Of course, Alice!”

“Has she…well, um, you know…had you upside down yet?” Alice’s fair skin reddens.

“Yes,” A pause. “I passed out the second time she did it. She said she got a little, um, involved in what she was doing, and forgot how long I had been upside down…quite apologetic about it, actually. But, yes.” I remember, and blush, too.

“Oh, just wondering. The first time she did that with me, I thought she was going to just drop me on the floor, and wondered what in the world was erotic about that!” Our peals of laughter carry us into the house, to make lunch before Gwen gets in from her morning twenty-mile cross-country run.


	10. Chapter Ten

Chapter 10

I hurdle the log in a raking stride, exulting in the cool clean air – well, about as clean as air gets, here – and my own strength. The forest is steep and dark, not too much underbrush on the rocky soil; the snow peaks float above me, almost like home. Not quite; the scents are a little different. Faint human and machine smells, less game, but still good. Up the steep slope, legs pistoning and face nearly to the brown pine-duff and scattered rocks. The knapsack strapped to my back holds sixty pounds of wet sand, to make this more of an exercise.

I come out onto a high ridge and stop, panting slightly. About me are mountains and forest, everywhere except the pure pale blue of the lake, and the sight fills me with happiness. I fill my lungs and then shout, a long high scream of challenge that goes on and on until the echoes ring back around me, doubled and redoubled. 

Mine, it announces to the world. Mine. Let that one who would take it from me come and do it, if they dare.

Then I plunge down slope, jumping the first ten feet and landing with a jar that clicks my teeth together and makes me laugh. That takes hold of me, and a leap from one spot to another, faster and faster, barely in control of my movement, until I am plunging full-speed across the flatter, flower-starred meadow above the house.

My serfs are by the kitchen windows. Their heads follow me as I race past, down the trail to the dock, and stop. I’m not quite finished, though; my body demands more, demands to be pushed. I drop the pack and the shorts and singlet and take the water in a flat leaping dive off the end. Ah. Cool clean water strips the bath of sweat off me, like a second skin off a snake, and I arrow deep. Water around me is intensely clear, like being in the middle of a huge living jewel, a liquid diamond. I slide through it, over the weeds and mud of the bottom, turning on my back to watch the hammered-silver ripple of the surface far above. Standing, ooze closes around my feet, and fish float by above. I can see the slow drift of silt around my ankles, trailing back to the lakebed; and wisps of my hair come loose from the clubbed braid at my neck, floating like tendrils before my eyes. I can see the gills of trout pulsing. Closer, and my hands dart and grab, breaking necks between finger and thumb. I crouch, arrow upward, swim back towards the dock with my kill under one arm, sculling with the other.

I leave the pack, but take the clothes, using the t-shirt to wrap the fish. As I walk back up the path to the chalet, I can hear Alice and Gwen talking and laughing together. Their scents blend, and I smile; this vacation was a very good idea. Hunger growls softly at me, like an old friend, and I can smell sliced meat, bread, cheese, the greenery of a salad, the buttery-sweetness of pastries.

I come through the French doors that lead onto the redwood deck, and close them behind me with a heel. The big living room is pleasantly warm up to the Ponderosa-pine rafters, a fire crackling in the fieldstone hearth. I walk through into the kitchen.

Erin looks up and smiles, and my heart melts within me; this is right, the warmth of my own Household about me. Deep within, I feel my fighting soul harden with purpose. I’m no longer light-foot and nomad on this Earth – there are things to protect, now, a placing of myself, a commitment of my blood. The feeling glides beneath my happiness like a shark moving through warm ocean waters off Andros, lethal and ready. I will break this world to my will and make it safe; for me, for my Alexandra, for Erin and her seed to serve mine in joy.

“Alice is cleaning up,” she says. “Trout?”

I put the two four-pounders down on the counter and nod. “Erin?” I say.

She turns to me, a little uncertain. There’s a change in the way she holds her body, an unconscious shaping of herself towards me. I put a hand behind her neck and bend a little, touching my lips to her brow and then leaning my forehead against hers. The words come naturally, but it is a second before I realize I’ve spoken in my own language.

“Muhmis?” Erin asks.

I chuckle a little, then grow serious: “Sorry. Habit. What I said was this… not quite the same in English, not really poetry, but as close as I can come to the meaning… Though I live ten thousand years, yet I will remember you. And though I rule the worlds and tread stars beneath my feet like grains of sand, yet still it will warm me to remember that you were mine.”

“Oh,” she says. Tears sparkle in her eyes for a moment, and she leans against me.

“What, again?” Alice says, coming through into the kitchen, wiping her hands on a towel. “I thought I was supposed to give the Lunchtime Yodel.”

It breaks the moment in laughter, but that is good as well. I hug them both in the circle of my arms, bright-blond hair and dark-blond each on a shoulder.

“Go on,” Erin says, laughing, pushing at Alice. “You keep her occupied, and I’ll finish lunch. Those trout are going to be delicious – pan-fried, just a little butter. My granddad took me fishing in the Smokies and I know just how. Distract her, girlfriend, or I’ll never get finished here.”

I lead Alice out to the deep-piled sheepskins before the fire. She drops her robe over a chair and kneels, lays her cheek against my loins, arms around my waist; I stroke her hair. 

“Erin’s a little shook up about this morning,” she murmurs softly to me, as I lay down beside her. 

“That’s natural,” I say, gathering her in. 

There are still beads of water on my skin; Alice shivers slightly, as they warm between us, or dry in the warmth of the fire. I enjoy the contact, the cold-cool-warm feel of water, human skin, radiation from the burning logs, the slightly fibrous softness of the fleeces. I go on, whispering in her ear:

“She’s not just enjoying being mine, she’s starting to accept it right down in her heart-root, and feeling that she’s part of my strength. Things will go faster from here, once she’s comfortable with that.”

“Mmmmm-hmmm,” Alice says. “I’m extremely bloody comfortable with it… unnh... I like that sheila, you know, haven’t had many friends as good. I’m glad you’re taking her in so smoothl-- …ohhh.”

Talk ends for a while. I take Alice, gently and slowly; enjoy her skilled, enthusiastic service of my needs. The scent of her body as it adapts to the drakensis child within, the knowledge that my egg grows beneath her heart, gives what we do a special mellow warmth. Her cries and moans, my growls and purring and occasional snarling shout of triumphant pleasure, meld with the crackling of the fire and the cheerful, homey sounds from the kitchen. At the end there is one last ecstatic human shriek, and I fold Alice into an embrace with my arms and legs, sighing, contented, watching the wood spark and pop, feeling her breath cool on my neck. Her heart thuds against mine, slowing.

“Well, that’s a yodel, if I ever heard one,” Erin says, coming to stand by the fire, grinning at us. “Lunch is ready, if you’ve got any attention left for mundane things like food.”

“Smells good,” I say. “And I’m hungry. That run this morning burned off a good three thousand calories.”

“Just a sec, cobber,” Alice says, as I kiss and release her. She scampers off, then returns with a damp facecloth and towel. “Let’s be civilized here.”

We sit at a small table. The trout are wonderful. “God, I’m getting as hungry as you are,” Alice says, biting into a roast-beef sandwich. “Mmurhph eating like a mmhph bloody pig, I am.”

That reminds me. Alice makes a small face, but dutifully swallows a glass of the ‘cocktail’ from the refrigerator; minerals, vitamins, supplements.

“It’s not a human child you’re carrying,” I remind her gently. “I want you both in peak health. You’ll need to eat heavily and keep taking the supplements after the birth, too, while you’re suckling her, to provide the right amount and type of milk. Especially since the post-partum growth spurt is longer and faster. Your body’s adjusting to the prompting it’s giving you, but you need the raw materials. A drakensis child makes pretty heavy demands, Alice.”

“Like a Draka adult, in her own special way,” Alice laughs.

“Exactly. We take what we need, and we need… a great deal.”

“Muhmis?” Erin says, then hesitates. “Muhmis, what was your mother like?”

“Which one?” I ask. Her eyebrows go up.

“I wouldn’t have thought even a Draka could have more than one,” she says, hazel eyes twinkling.

“Three, no less – one more than’s usual, even for a Draka. Unless you count cases of egg-to-egg gene merging as two… There’s my legal mother, Yolande Ingolfsson; my gene-mother, Myfwany Venders – so I’m her, in a sense, at least the human part of my genome -- and Marya, the serf who brooded and suckled me. Tantie-ma, that’s our term for that relationship. You’ll be Alexandra’s tantie-ma, Alice.”

She smiles and sighs and nods. “I can’t wait,” she says. “Or couldn’t wait, if this part wasn’t so much fun too.”

This pregnancy was a good idea, I think. There were jagged edges to Alice even after she broke to me; but being a brooder has brought her into a lovely balance. The effects on her mind will last, too, and she’ll bond closely to the child. I think she’s been emotionally starved, much of her life, poor creature. I’m glad she’s fulfilled now.

“Yolande… is she the woman in the picture, with the moon in the background?” Erin asked.

“Yes; that’s done from memory. She was governor of the Moon, for a good long time – just before the final war, and for nearly a generation afterwards. That window-seat is still there, and there’s a monument to her in the dome. I’ll show it to you both, when we go wingflying there.”

Erin is rapt, intrigued; Alice nods with a beaming smile. They’re both wild to see space. Well, I would be too, especially if I never had before.

“Well… let’s see, I have to give you some background about the Old Domination,” I say, thinking with my fork poised for a second. “My mother Yolande met my mother Myfwany at school. All-girls boarding school; that was traditional, still is – we’re a conservative people. Well, the tradition was, in the Old Domination, before the New Race, that girls took their first lover from among their schoolmates. In those generations – the last couple before the New Race and the Final War – it was considered a little… perverse, you’d say… for a girl to be interested in males before she was about eighteen.”

“Why school friends as lovers?” Erin asks, with that special human curiosity.

“Number of reasons; first, that’s who was available to fall in love with; second, for a long time it was forbidden for Draka females to go with subject-race males – I’m not altogether sure why, probably eugenic reasons – and there was a prejudice against it even after the laws were changed. And third, human-Draka teenage boys weren’t interested in their female counterparts, much. Teenage human males generally aren’t that interested in affection-bonds as opposed to raw sex, and of course they could get all they wanted of that from serf wenches. In fact, the genders didn’t have all that much to do with each other until they started their military service, right after graduating from… you’d call it high school.”

“Anyway,” I go on, stretching back, putting one arm behind my head and eating a soft fruit pastry, “mother Yolande fell unusually hard for Myfwany. I think she was… ah, predominantly gay, to use your terminology; not that she didn’t go with men occasionally, but for her it wasn’t…how do you put it, Erin –”

“—not it,” Erin supplies. She looks fascinated.

“Not it. I’m glad my species was designed sensibly bisexual. A generation earlier, that might have caused her problems – Draka women were duty-bound to bear children for the Race, and that usually involved a long-term mating, marriage they called it then, with a male – but by her adulthood you could do that by proxy; she had five children later, all New Race and all via brooders, of course. I’m the only one still alive, but there are dozens of descendants all over the Domination – even in the other stellar systems we’ve colonized. In any event, she and Myfwany stayed together all through flight-training school, and then Myfwany was killed during the conquest of India in about 30 BFS… 1970’s, you’d say. Marya, my Tantie-Ma, was American… this is getting complex. She was American, but her mother was French, and her father was human-Draka, her owner before she escaped to the United States, she was already pregnant with Marya – human-Draka and human serfs were interfertile, of course; that often caused problems. Marya was captured in the same engagement Myfwany was killed in, and my mother Yolande took her as chattel then and there, battlefield claim. A little later Yolande seeded Marya with me.”

“Were they lovers… umm, that’s not quite the right way to put it… did Yolande take Marya to bed?” Erin asked.

“Well, she raped her once right at that airfield in India, but I think that was more out of emotional distress – she sort of blamed her for Myfwany’s death at the time – than for pleasure. Later on, much later, when I was in my teens, she did become a regular bedwench for Mother, but that was Marya’s idea, if anything. Mother didn’t usually like non-volunteers in bed; there are obvious practical difficulties, if you’re a human female, we drakensis have advantages that way, and Mother insisted on her partners enjoying it. Yolande said it wasn’t much fun for her otherwise and drugs were cheating. There were never any shortage of volunteers, I assure you! Although I recall one wench, Sonya, captured during the Final War, Mother took her fairly roughly at first – Mother just didn’t like Yankees much -- and the wench was quite upset for a while. But mother broke her in beautifully, and kept her as a regular; after a couple of years she absolutely adored mother, and Sonya was inconsolable when Mother died. Literally pined away.”

There’s a moment of silence. I can see them digesting the information. There’s a severe culture-clash here, of course; things I take for granted seem extremely strange to them, and vice versa. Hades, I think. I’ve felt that way sometimes myself, living as long as I have. The Final Society is slow-changing, but the first century of it was a little disorientating even for me as things settled into their new patterns. I was raised among humans, after all.

“What was Yolande like as… as a person?” Erin asks.

“A wonderful parent,” I say. “Very loving; always interested, and always there for us when she wasn’t away on assignment. Some of the Ancestors came to resent their New Race children because we’d moved beyond them, but she never did; she was happy for us. She was –“ I think back; those are my deepest memories, never edited or shunted to transducer-storage, the ones that make me myself “—sad a lot of the time, even when she was having fun, if you know what I mean. Mostly she was among the kindest people I knew, and generally speaking her serfs loved her, but she could be… cruel. No just hard when it was necessary – she was a soldier, after all – but vicious, when her deepest emotions were involved and overrode her mind. In a way that was very human; drakensis don’t react precisely that way.” I consider how to say this. “She was very cruel to Marya for a while, before I was born; and sorry for it afterwards. Marya always remembered it; it did something to her inside, and their relationship was always… very complex. Sort of bittersweet.”

Erin nods. Alice does too, and yawns. Poor wench, I think. “Why don’t you take a nap, Alice? I’ll take Erin out in the canoe for a while – it’s a beautiful day for it – and then after dinner we’ll watch – you got it at the rental place, Erin –”

“Monty Python and the Holy Grail,” she says.

**  
I wait for Erin on the dock; it’s chilly for humans, and she’s getting a sweater and jacket to go with her jeans; I stick with khaki shirt and pants, adjusting my metabolism upward automatically.

Call, I tell my transducer. It’s easy for it to patch into the crude phone system here, and contact Andros. Tom.

“Here, Muhmis,” he says after a moment; slightly surprised. When I delegate, I delegate, and he knows it.

I close my eyes, and the video pickup is channeled through the transducer to my vision centers. He’s sitting in the third-floor office; out on the veranda I can see Dolores, and – yes – Peter beyond her. I hear their voices distantly, through the crude microphone’s pickup. A laugh.

“Don’t worry, I’m not going to joggle your elbow about business,” I say. “How’s Peter coming along?”

“Still upset, although he’s calmer now,” Tom says. “He spent the night with me, talking mostly, since he didn't want to be alone. It was a pretty heavy one-two punch, learning that Erin’s pregnant and then the truth about you.”

“I know, but he’s resilient,” I say. “Did he say anything of interest?”

“Mostly incomprehension and denial. I helped him through that, and I think the truth of it’s really sinking in now.” 

Fairly fast, for a human – but then, he’s been suspicious for some time. It was bring him on board or kill him, and I’d hate to do that – Erin would be very upset. Although she accepted it when I had to slap and restrain him; she’s really taming well.

“He’s worried about Erin, as well; that young man has a good heart, you know. And now that that’s sinking in too, he’s worried about the child.”

“You emphasized that I’d take care of them both?”

“Yes, and he seemed to find it… reassuring and disturbing at the same time. I talked to him about how your people will heal the Earth, of course, and he was quite interested when he’d calmed down. He finds the end of wars pretty attractive too; I’d lay some stress on that, Muhmis; and I’m using the holo-file to show him a lot of the Domination, he’s intrigued and impressed. Dolores is jollying him along fairly effectively too. He likes both of us, and if we’re happy belonging to you, it helps a lot. He did say that if the Household on Andros is a fair sample of how Draka run things, maybe you weren’t such a bad thing after all.”

“Good, good!” I say. “You’ve got my authorization to take as much time as necessary on this.”

“Thank you, Muhmis,” Tom says, relief in his eyes. “He did mention suicide at one point… and I’m fond of the lad, I really am.”

“It’s not suicide I’m worried about, but things do seem to be going well. I’m glad, for his sake and mine and Erin’s.”

“Are you enjoying the vacation?” Tom grins.

My answering expression is a little smug. “Very much. Alice is a joy, and things are going very well indeed with Erin. She’s settling down wonderfully. Keep up the good work, my pretty buck,” I go on. “Get plenty of sleep. When we get back, you and Peter will be spending some time with me.”

He laughs. “Alice and Erin will be exhausted by then.”

“That they will. Keep me posted if there are any unexpected developments, but I’m quite confident you can handle things. As for Peter, it’s probably better for him to be out of my aura for a little while, to calm down and think things over.”

“The dociline is helping there.” 

I’ve had a little run up by Mueller – the last version, 1st century FS model, for emergencies, and Peter seemed like one. It’s more than a tranquilizer and a mild euphoric; it short-circuits human aggression reflexes, giving making them temporarily more like a servus, letting the full impact of a drakensis strike home past the defenses. Useful, if used carefully; Peter is the first I’ve tried it on, besides some test subjects. I’ll give him another dose when I come back and take him and Tom together. That ought to solidify things.

“Yes, but keep the dosage minimal, and taper it off over the next couple of days. That will maximize the long-term acceptance reaction. He has to really accept the situation, you know, for the bonding to work well. Gwen out.”

Erin comes down the pathway, bundled into a leather jacket. I hold the canoe for her, making sure there’s a lifejacket under the seat, then sit in the stern and push us off onto the silent blue water; there are some sails further out, attractive curved shapes. The shusssh and drip of my paddle is the loudest sound about us, although there is a distant buzz of powerboat engines – a vileness that I won’t miss, after the conquest. 

My chattel is sitting on the lifejacket in the bottom of the boat, facing me with her back against a seat and one hand trailing in the water. She looks thoughtful, and I approve. The intelligent ones are the best; and in this situation, she needs to fully understand what’s happening to her.

“Thanks for telling me about your mother – mothers,” she says.

“You’re welcome. I’m glad we’re getting this close.” 

“Yeah.” She looks up at the sky. “This… this whole thing that’s going on here is so strange.”

“Well, it is to you,” I say. “It’s the least strange thing about the whole situation, to me. Monty Python, now that’s strange.”

We share a laugh.

“I was talking with Alice earlier,” she goes on after a while. “About… you know, about the Project, and what things will be like when your people arrive.” I nod. She continues: “Alice, ah, doesn’t seem to mind at all that people will be…”

“Enslaved?” I prompt gently.

“Well, yeah. Jeezie petes, it still seems so strange to think about that word as something real.”

“You’re my slave, Erin,” I say, soft and level, smiling at her with the pride of possession, and a deep affection. This time there isn’t the tiny hunching of her shoulders at the words, as there often was before; that brings out a deep warm approval in me. I go on:

“You’re my possession, my pet; I own you down to your fingertips and the bottom of your soul and you do as I command in everything – not just your actions, I dominate you, your emotions, what you feel. And I think you’re finding it, umm, quite pleasant. And very real. This morning, for instance.”

“Yes.” Her voice is tiny, and she flushes. “That was different.”

“You surrendered completely, when I took you,” I say. “Honestly now?”

“Yeah. And I did like it; it was so intense, like nothing I’ve ever felt before. But afterwards I felt, ah, really strange.”

“Your will is breaking, and breaks ache for a bit, but the new shape of your self will be sound and strong – a d’Ingolfsson to be proud of. This is right, Erin, what’s going on with you and me – you may have noticed just how good it made me feel this morning. We’re joined, now. You’ll get used to it, and you’ll be happy. Alice is, and Tom, and Delores.”

“Alice told me that,” she says. “Will it be like this for everybody?”

“No,” I say, shaking my head. “Incidentally, I may not tell you everything, but I don’t lie to you. No, there are far too many humans for the sort of intense bonding you and I are going through – that’s commoner in the Domination, of course. Not always as strong as this even there; and household chattel like you are a minority. An envied, high-status minority, by the way. For most people here, once the fighting’s over – and I’m not hiding the fact that that will be unpleasant, if brief – things will only change gradually. More and more Draka will come through, once this Earth is opened for settlement; and they’ll claim more and more humans and their servus children as their own serfs, setting up Households and estates. For the rest, they probably won’t have much direct contact with us; when they do they’ll be expected to submit their wills, of course.”

Erin shakes her head; not denial, just wonder. “It’s so alien, the way you look at things. Is everything in the Domination this domination-submission thing?"

“Not everything. People – Draka and servus – have their friends and mates. We drakensis are extremely competitive, but even so we’re not always doing the… ah, one-up thing. Tamirindus and I are quite good friends, for example. And with a well-tamed chattel, a drakensis can relax fairly completely. As I am with you and Alice, here.”

“I’m… I was brought up to think that freedom, equality, they were the most important things in the world. Honestly –”

I nod encouragingly.

“—honestly, some of me still thinks that way. There’s this little voice in the back of my head, and sometimes it’s screaming at what’s happening to me.”

“That’s all right, Erin,” I say, and lean forward to squeeze her foot reassuringly. “It’s only natural. You’re being assimilated into a different culture as well as the personal relationship with me, you know. Once you’re fully in, you’ll be able to look at it from the outside. And see that you were free only in a negative sense before I took you. The parameters of your life were still decided for you – by institutions, by governments – and decided by people who had no personal concern for you at all.”

She nods, her head going up and down slowly. 

“Tell me about the Holy Grail,” I say.


	11. Chapter Eleven

Chapter 11

Sakes alive, that woman eats enough for three, I think as I load some soup cans into the shopping cart. But then she has to, with her metabolism. I check my list, seeing what’s next. Shopping for groceries with Gwen along is a new and unusual experience.

I turn to go down the aisle, and notice the thin young woman standing near me, her arms resting on the bar of her shopping cart. She glances up shyly through a thick mane of black hair, not too clean, and flashes a beautiful grin at me. I smile back, and start to move down the aisle…my eyes are drawn back of their own accord, seemingly, to her arms. Dark brown, symmetrical scars…down the length of her forearms…those are cigarette burn scars if ever I’ve seen any. My bunkmate in Basic had the same things on her back; she never talked about it but once, and only to me.

The girl notices my stare, and blushes, pulling her sleeves down to cover the accusing, startling marks. Her head hangs down, eyes hidden. “What th’hell are you doin’, jus’ standin’ there, idiot?” says a voice behind us, and a huge, filthy t-shirt bulges into view. The man slaps a case of cheap beer down into the cart, and she flinches. “You never do what yer told, do yuh?”

He’s tall, much taller than me, about Gwen’s height. His glance moves over me, dismissing. His jeans hang low, and the t-shirt is grease- and food-stained. A scraggly beard attempts to cover his acne scars, and his hair’s a stranger to shampoo, that’s obvious. I guess he’s allergic to soap, too, when his b.o. hits me. I shake my head, silently wishing the girl good luck, as I turn to go down the row of soups.

A skinny woman wanders down the aisle toward us, clutching several bags of assorted chips in one claw-like hand and cans of cheese dip in the other. As she passes me, I smell stale sweat, cigarettes, and beer on her. Gah! I think, Don’t these people ever wash?

“How come you’re jus’ standin’ around? Huh, bitch? I tole you to get the chili stuff, and you think you can just bullshit me? Is that it? Huh?” The man’s bull-bellow startles me, and I turn just in time to hear the swack of his hand as it slaps across the youngster’s face. She gasps, and ducks her head, avoiding the next blow with long-practiced ease.

“No, Daddy—please, no…I got the chili, it’s right—” Swack! The third blow lands across her mouth, and blood begins to trickle down her chin. She whimpers and hiccups as tears begin to flow down her gaunt face, which looks much older than her adolescent years should allow for.

“God-dammit, stop hitting that child. Now!” I say loudly, my fists clenching, grocery list forgotten in the heat of the moment. I feel sick with rage as his tiny, red-shot pig’s eyes turn slowly towards me.

“Oh, Joey, come on…don’t get mean,” whines the skinny woman, tossing her nutritious snacks into the basket. “Come on, Joey, yer on probation, remember?”

“Shut the fuck up, bitch. An’ you, Miss Nosey Bitch, you better do the same, if you know what’s good for you, unnerstan’?” His hands have clenched into fat fists, and I can smell the beer as his breath blasts me.

“What you better understand is that if you hit that child again, I’ll call the police. How’s that sound, handsome?” I step away from my cart, crouching unconsciously. Out of the corner of my eye, I see Gwen and Alice rounding the corner, but my attention is directed forward, at the threat in front of me.

“Why, you little dyke, you whore…” His fist swings at me, surprisingly fast for someone so fat. I start to move inside the arc of his arm, my own hands poised to strike face, belly, groin, when a blur of motion intervenes. Gwen stands between us, his grimy fist held in one of her hands. “Stop. Now.” Her voice is clear, cold, commanding. She moved so fast from the end of the aisle that I didn’t even see her, and she’s obviously surprised Mister Beer Belly.

He grunts, and tugs at his hand. “So, this yer girlfren’? Huh? Tryin’ to get my little girl, right? Is that how you preverts act? Let go a’me, you big bit—”

Beer Belly’s eyes and mouth pop open in O’s of pain and surprise, as Gwen clenches her hand. She moves slowly until she’s right in front of him, and squeezes again. The muscles of her tanned forearm barely bulge, but the veins in the fat man’s neck pop out, and he whines with pain. I hear a slight crackling sound, and realize it’s the bones in his hand being broken.

“You’re not a nice human, are you? Rather disgusting, actually. Now what were you saying?” 

Gwen stands about a couple of inches taller than him, and the contrast’s striking. Her khaki hiking shorts, long muscled legs tanned the color of milk chocolate, hiking boots; brightly striped rugby jersey…her thick, short red hair’s bristling slightly, I realize, and the thick braid of hair that usually hangs down her back has swung over one shoulder in her rapid move down the row of food items. Leaf-green eyes narrow.

The man grunts again, incredulous. “Ah, shit, ah…let go! Let go, dammit! Ahhh…” He doesn’t have a full set of teeth, a corner of my mind notices. 

The girl’s cowering behind him, hiccupping loudly. Blood is dripping onto the shopping basket from her mouth. “I’m sorry…I’m sorry,” she cries.

Alice steps forward, blue eyes ablaze. “Hey, cobber, c’mere. It’s okay. Just come here, now.” She holds her arms open, and the girl, stunned, just looks at her. “Come on, we’ll take you somewhere safe. It’s okay, now. Come here, girl.”

“Let go uh my man!” shrieks Skinny Lady, finally noticing his grey face and Gwen. “Let go or we’ll sue, I swear!” The yell motivates the youngster, and she ducks between Gwen and Beer Belly, diving into Alice’s arms. She buries her face into my friend’s shoulder, sobbing deeply, heart-brokenly.

Gwen’s ears turn slightly toward the huffing Skinny Lady, and she smiles. Wolf-grins, actually. Then her attention focuses back on the man. “You’re not very nice; the adolescent shows signs of abuse, or torture. I don’t like that. Not at all. My people don’t tolerate that sort of behavior, hog.”

As she speaks, his head goes down, but the color rises in his face. He sets his feet, and suddenly lunges toward my Muhmis, growling deep from his gut. “Kill you, bitch!!”

“What’s going on here?” exclaims the manager of the grocery, running down the aisle, face furrowed with concern, and anger. “Hey, what’s going on? Stop that!”

“You let go uh my man!” The Skinny Lady pummels Gwen’s back, but Gwen pays her no mind. Instead, she yanks on Beer Belly’s arm, the hand still enclosed in hers. As he rushes forward, her yank pulls him off balance, and pulls his arm out of joint. It pops. Air whistles through his teeth in agony, but in his blind, murderous rage, he doesn’t stop. Instead, he manages to pivot on one foot, and slams into Gwen. The three of them, Gwen, Beer Belly, and Skinny Lady all stagger backwards, and the manager runs into them.

Alice is backing down the aisle, and tugs at my sleeve urgently. “Come on, come on, this’s going to get ugly. Real ugly. Come on.”

Gwen shrugs the manager and Skinny Lady off, tumbling them to the floor. She makes a spear out of her hand, and pauses momentarily. My body aches with sudden lust, as I remember the last time her hand looked like that, and then I’m absolutely sickened when she smoothly thrusts it into the fat man’s abdomen. His soundless shriek is accentuated by the horrid ripping, tearing sound, as she efficiently guts him. 

The raw sewage stink of shit and the rich, coppery smell of blood fills the air, overwhelming me. Blood, other fluids, pieces of the man flood out onto the tile, and blood spatters Gwen and the two prone people. Skinny Lady screams, shrilly, and I do, too. The manager turns his head and vomits suddenly, uncontrollably. 

Alice has held the girl’s head down, shielding her eyes from the gruesome sight, but you can’t shield someone from the sounds and the smells. My mind flashes back to the gory flight deck of the Nimitz, and my pulse races… I look down to see Skinny Lady fumbling at her purse, searching frantically for something. People are starting to come to the ends of the aisle, and yell.

Skinny pulls out a handgun, and takes aim at Gwen’s back. My Muhmis is still holding Beer Belly, or what’s left of him, up in the air, her face a mask of predatory rage and sensual enjoyment. The eyes that have looked at me with lust, with liking, with amusement now look on the dying jerks and tremors of another human being with cold killing rage. I’ve never seen her look like this, even the time she slapped me. It terrifies me; that and her pheromones. I look back at Skinny Lady…

Let her, whispers the voice in my mind. It’s sure to get through the subcutaneous molecular armor at this range; that’s a .44 magnum. Let her, and you don’t have to be a slave. You don’t owe Gwen anything…let her shoot the woman who thinks she’s your owner…my hands freeze. For a long, long moment, I’m unable to move, caught by the voice’s whisper and by my conflicting reactions. Everything seems to slow into a tableau of horror.

No. I can’t let her die. I can’t betray her. She’s been honest with me. I pledged my life to her, I think, and that springs me into action. A sort of territorial violation rage swells within me, and things go all red and misty. Gee, this has only happened once before, and that’s when Petty Officer Pasco and I duked it out with pugil sticks, I think to myself, in the millisecond conscious thought is available. And I kicked her ass!

Grabbing a jar of spaghetti sauce, I heave it at Skinny Lady’s stomach. Better target than her head; larger area. Better chance of hitting. It does, with a dull thump, and she doubles over. I rush her, grasping for the blue metal handgun. Her wiry strength surprises the hell out of me, and we grapple, face to face. Her eyes are wide, bloodshot, full of rage and shock. Her mouth forms a snarl, and she head-butts me. Stars circle in brilliant arcs before my eyes, and my nose begins to bleed.

Gwen’s heard the commotion behind her, and drops the dying man to the blood-covered floor. He splashes and twitches. As she turns to reach for the woman’s neck, there’s a dull whack of the gun firing. The two of us, locked together, fall to the slimy floor, twisting and turning violently. I feel like I’ve been kicked in the stomach, hard, and fear washes through me. The baby, the baby, my mind screams, and I struggle to free myself of the strangling grip Skinny Lady has on me. I hear someone screaming, far away, and then realize it’s me. “No, no, no, no…”

The woman’s plucked from my grip, and the gun skitters across the floor to lie next to the sprattled body of Beer Belly. His feet are still twitching in galvanic shivers, and I watch as one foot wags rapidly back and forth. It’s sort of funny, like he’s dancing. Ha, ha, watch the dead man dance, my mind babbles, and I realize I’m going into shock. My hands run down, across my stomach, and come away slick with blood. I raise them to my face, eyes widening.

Gwen’s hand tightens around Skinny Lady’s scrawny neck, and with an easy sideways snap of her wrist, the woman’s neck is broken. She’s tossed to crumple next to her man. Gwen crouches down next to me, her hands stripping my shirt up and my jeans down, cloth tearing under her fingers like tissue paper. The heat of her hands on my stomach and loins feels startling, like it always does, and she sighs in relief.

“You’re not the one that got shot, Erin. The baby’s all right, you’re all right. Ssssaaa, now, it’s going to be all right…you’re not injured, sweetlin’,” she croons, as she picks me up from the butcher-shop floor. The blood is already growing sticky, and I hear, with an absolute clarity, the tack-tack noises her hiking boots make as she walks down the aisle, carrying me in her arms.

“Alice, sit down here with her. I’ll be right back,” Gwen says softly, and I feel Alice’s arm around my shoulder. The young girl has gone very, very pale and very quiet, and sits crunched up next to the Australian woman’s side, shivering.

The manager has slowly pulled himself to his feet, and is looking around in stunned disbelief. Two police burst in, guns drawn, radios crackling. “All right, hold it, all of you. Hands up, everybody. Do it! Now!” They advance, crouching, eyes flicking from Gwen to the manager, down to the bodies…

Gwen slowly raises her hands, as does the manager, who’s shaking so bad his hands waver like branches of a willow in a storm. “It’s…it’s all over…they…she…it’s…” he stammers to the police, who warily advance.

“It’s all over, gentlemen. The two attackers are dead. I killed them, in self-defense. It’s all right now, really.” Gwen’s voice, smooth and mellow, strong like a bronze bell, exuding calm, rings out, and the police straighten from their crouches.

“Damn, what the hell happened here? Anyone else hurt? What’d you kill him with, a chain saw?” One of the police mutters, looking rather green around the gills.

“Hey, that’s Big Joe, Gary,” comments the other officer, holstering his nine millimeter. He hitches his pants up slightly, and walks over to the manager, who’s shaking uncontrollably. “We’ve arrested that guy about twenty times since he and his old lady and kid moved here from Texas…mean son-of-a-bitch, too…” He pauses to pick up the .44, using a pen to hook the trigger guard. “Yeah, this is his, too; when he’s drunk…I mean, when he was drunk, he thought it was fun to shoot this thing off inside the bar.”

Gwen walks closer to him, smiling. “Now officer, is there any need for…excessive publicity about this? I’m a …business woman, here on vacation, and I really don’t want any press coverage. I was merely defending myself.” Her voice is soothing, calming, persuasive. His eyes widen as he takes in her looks, and her pheromones, too. I watch from my vantage point next to Alice, and see sweat start trickling down his throat, into his white t-shirt. It’s amazing to watch how it works.

Other police have arrived, and are escorting people, willingly and unwillingly, out of the grocery. They begin to string yellow caution tape around the aisle, hemming us in. The officer Gwen’s next to clears his throat. “Um, well, no ma’am, no excessive publicity. I just, ah, need, ah, a statement of what happened, and those of any witnesses. These folks were, um, known to be pretty bad, ah, characters. But I’ll…ah… need a statement,” he concludes, looking into her hypnotic gaze.

“Why, of course. Only too happy to oblige. These two young women down here, and the girl, saw what happened, but I think the youngster’s a bit too upset to be very helpful. And I’m sure the manager here can corroborate what I say, too, can’t you?” The manager nods, ashen. Gwen goes on: “Shall we come down to the station, or will you drop by our chalet? I’d really like to get out of these clothes, soon…this is quite messy. And smelly. What do you think, officer, um, Officer Weir?” She glances down at his badge, and then up to his face, turning on the smile that can melt a glacier in a few minutes.

He flushes, and clears his throat again. “Um, ma’am, I can stop by and get your statement, and your friends’, too, if they’re staying with you. No problem, really. We’re, ah, used to executives who don’t want, ah, a lot of news coverage. Does anyone, um, need any medical attention?”

“I don’t; are you girls all right?” asks Gwen, eyeing us. We both nod yes, and she turns to look the manager over, her eyes narrowing in concern. “However, I think a medic should check this man out; his heart sounds…” she pauses a moment, “…his coloring tells me his heart may be bothering him.”

Officer Weir nods agreement, and signals a group of paramedics closer. “Hey, Gary,” he calls to his partner, “Let’s get some body bags in here, too. Quick.”

“Yeah, in a second; the police photographer just got here. I’ve got the bags in the car; I’ll go get ‘em.”

Gwen swiftly walks down the aisle to where we’re sitting, out of the gore and blood. “Children, let’s leave now. Alice, do you have the address of the chalet? I’ll give it to the security officer.”

“Policeman, Gwen. Here it is. Shall I take these two out to the jeep?” Alice’s voice is calm and steady; I look at her in admiration. I don’t think I can speak, myself. I really thought I’d been shot; my hands are shaking.

“Oops, thanks. Yes, fine, take them to the vehicle. I’ll meet you out there. Pull right up to the door, so I don’t have to shock the natives any more as it is, dear.” Gwen returns to the side of Officer Weir, who’s talking with his partner, body bags in their hands. I hear the zip-click-whirr sounds of a camera as we leave. Those are some shots I sure don’t want to have reprints of, I think dazedly, as Alice ushers me into the back of the jeep, sitting me next to the silent teenager.

Thinking of her is easier than thinking about how close I just came to dying, or losing the baby I’m carrying, and I put my arms around her. She stiffens, just slightly, but the fact that she does breaks my heart. I’ve felt Alice do the same thing, when I’ve snuck up on her and hugged her by surprise. I loosen my grip, and rub her back gently. “Hey, what’s your name?”

“Ruthann.” The voice’s a whisper, barely audible. She sobs slowly, her hands covering her thin face. The sleeves slide down from her arms, and I can see more burn scars, all up and down her arms. It makes me feel ill.

“Hey, Ruthann, we’ll get you to a safe place. My god, child, what you’ve been through…I was only trying to get him to stop hitting you, honest. I never meant for this…all this…to happen,” I whisper to her.

Her head snaps up, and brown eyes stare into mine, huge. Angry. “I’m not sorry it happened. I wish I could have done it, a long time ago. You…you…you were the first to ever say ‘stop it’ to him. I wish I had killed him, not that beautiful red-headed lady…”

“Beautiful red-headed lady? Where?” Gwen jokes, as she slides into the passenger seat, closing the door carefully. I grin; I’ve managed to superglue the armrest back on, and remember my impertinent lecture to Gwen about it earlier in the day. And the tickling that followed, as she chased me good-naturedly around the chalet. It seems like eons ago, somehow. Was it only this morning?


	12. Chapter Twelve

Chapter 12

The police officer clears his throat, looking around the living room of the chalet. Rich, he subvocalizes. Careful. Powerhouse lawyers, get my ass in a crack. Christ, she’s a looker. Can’t be more than thirty. Christ, I’d like to see that pair. Aloud, he goes on:

"Could you please state your name, and give a description of the events of April 3rd."

I am sitting across the table from him; there’s a stenographer here, and a crude machine making an audio recording. Odd legal system they have here, I think; but then, they don’t have reliable truth drugs or universal recording. Erin and Alice are here too, they’ve given their statements, and Ruthann is in another room talking to the bureaucrat and the doctor. Alice looks a little tense. The high-powered lawyer Tom flew in is as expressionless as a machine. 

To a human ear, at least; subvocally he’s cursing the waste of time, counting the $750-and-hour fee he’s collecting, and looking at my legs. So is the District Attorney’s assistant, but she manages to look alert and interested.

“My name is Gwendolyn Ingolfsson; I have Canadian citizenship, am resident in the Bahamas Islands, and have legal Resident Alien status in the United States,” I say, and lay my passport and other ID on the table. The policeman relaxes. 

Great, one who doesn’t have to be lead through a deposition by the hand, he subvocalizes, and smiles slightly.

“I am CEO and chief shareholder of IngolfTech Corporation, a technology development firm operating out of Nassau, with offices in New York,” I go on. I’m pitching my voice in medium-soprano Convincing mode, and giving a mild dose of approval pheromones, mixed in with a trace of lust. Not that Officer Weiss isn’t doing fairly well in that respect all by himself, I scent with amusement.

“At 3:00 p.m. Rocky Mountain Time, I and my associates Erin Kane and Alice Wayne drove in to Meeks Bay to do some grocery shopping at the California Gourmet Stop “ a vile lie, that name. “At this point I should explain that I’m in California on a working holiday, doing some planning away from the pressures of day-to-day management at our H.Q. in the Bahamas. Ms. Wayne is my executive secretary, and Ms. Kane is Vice-President in charge of CIS planning for IngolfTech. Ms. Wayne is an Australian citizen, and Ms. Kane an American. This chalet is the property of a subcontractor of ours, Manhattan Construction Inc.”

“And what happened at the Gourmet Stop, Ms. Ingolfsson?”

“I and Alice – Ms. Wayne – were at the head of the aisle, so I saw the events quite clearly.” Actually, I heard them from just around the corner, but there’s nobody to correct that. Nobody alive, at least. 

“Mr… Drucker, I believe his name was?” The officer nods, and so does the DA’s assistant. Evidently Drucker was well known to all, in local law enforcement. “Mr. Drucker began striking his daughter, Ruthann. Striking her hard, first with the open palm of his hand in a full-armed swing like this –” I demonstrate “—and then with the back of his hand. He was verbally abusing the child as well. Cigarette burns were visible along her arms. Mr. Drucker is – was – a large man, I believe about 6’3”, a little under three hundred pounds. His daughter is just fifteen, and weighs a third of that.”

The policeman looks down at his notepad. Well, by God, Ms. Town and Country here got that right. Motherfucking bastard, wish I’d shot him, they ought to give her a fucking medal. How the hell did she do it, open him up that way, Bruce fucking Lee couldn’t have ---.

The DA’s attorney is looking at her notes too. Child-abusing trailer-trash son of a bitch, she thinks/says beneath her breath. Wanted to get him, never could get testimony, DA’s a sexist pig, Child Protection sit around on their ass, keep the fucking family together they keep saying, bunch of tape decks, dickheads –

“Ms. Kane told Mr. Drucker to stop hitting the child, or she’d call the police. Mr. Drucker then voiced obscene insults, and swung his fist at Ms. Kane. As you can see, Ms. Kane is 5’3” and weighs about 130 lbs. I’m rather larger, and I’m a martial artist, so at this point I intervened and grabbed Mr. Drucker’s fist, twisting it sharply, and told him to stop. He refused, wrenching sharply against my hold on his hand, and may have broken some bones at that point. He didn’t seem badly injured though.”

I pause. Guts, Big Joe was a bad one, the policeman subvocalizes. That’s such a useful habit of humans…

“What happened then, ma’am?” he says.

“Mrs. Drucker attacked me, and the manager of the store tried to separate us,” I say. “Mr. Drucker was making threats – repeated threats to kill me – and continuing to attack.”

Everyone nods; I’ve got four sworn statements to that effect.

“And he seemed to be in a psychotic state, or inebriated. Fearing for my life and that of Ms. Kane since even the pain of a broken hand hadn’t stopped him, I used a karate technique known as spearhand, thrusting with my bunched fingertips in his solar plexus to attempt to disable him. Much to my surprise – I can only assume there was some weakness in his stomach wall, perhaps an untreated ulcer – the results were… drastic, and he died.”

Gutted him like a fucking trout, the policeman whispers unconsciously to himself. Couldn’t have happened to a nicer piece of shit.

“Yes?” he says aloud.

“At this point, Mrs. Drucker rose from the floor holding a Colt .44 magnum revolver, and pointed it at me. Ms. Kane – thank you again, Erin – threw a can of spaghetti sauce at her, and grappled with her, attempting to take the weapon away. They fell to the floor and the gun went off; I wasn’t sure who had been shot, and in fear for Ms. Kane’s life I struck Mrs. Drucker’s neck with the edge of my hand as hard as I could. That seems to have broken her neck, but in any case on examining Ms. Kane I found that she hadn’t been injured; it was Mrs. Drucker who was killed by the pistol as they struggled for it. Purely accidental discharge, but Ms. Kane’s action saved my life. Then I gave my preliminary statement to Officer Weiss, and this address, and returned here.”

“Why did you bring the Drucker child with you, Ms. Ingolfsson?” The DA’s assistant, this time.

“Because she was terrified, had obviously been badly abused, and had nowhere to go but the police station,” I say. The lawyer nods. “That’s not relevant to this investigation, I think,” I add politely, but put a ring of command in my voice.

“Thank you, Ms. Ingolfsson,” the policeman says aloud. To himself: Christ, a miracle, four depositions and they all say the same thing. Charlie’s, even, and he was about to vapor lock.

The assistant DA looks at me. Not a prayer of an indictment – don’t want an indictment – police aren’t going to press charges, open and shut. Pressure right from the Governor. Damn, but I’d like to know more about this, though.

The bureaucrat and the doctor come out of the other room, with Ruthann. The girl is red-eyed but calm, head held high. 

“I’m going to file a complaint,” the medic says. “This child has clear evidence of years of systematic physical and sexual abuse. Why was she allowed to stay in an obviously unfit home?”

The policeman sighs. “George,” he says, “those –” he looks at the girl and reconsiders “—people had only been in the county for four months, goddamn it. Nobody would talk.”

The bureaucrat is a mousey little man. “This is all highly irregular,” he says. “The child should be placed in emergency foster care until relatives or a suitable home is found. Highly irregular.”

“But very legal,” I say, rising and extending a hand to the policeman. Several compliant judges and a governor heavily in my debt; that’ll work for now, and there are other measures I can take. Alice is very determined to keep the child; and why not? A brooder deserves pampering; I rather like her myself. “We’ll be here until the 14th, officer,” I say. “And further, if you need us, of course.”   
**  
Ruthann is bedded down, with a sedative, and Alice is taking a long soak in the hot tub. I sit on the redwood deck, looking out over the cerulean lake, watching the reflections of clouds pass by. The sun’s setting; it always does so rapidly here, with the mountains surrounding us. It’s a bit chilly; I pull my sweater tight around my shoulders.

Gwen sits down behind me, her legs to either side of mine. She pulls me close, gently, and nuzzles into my hair, sighing. I smell her, a clean, sharp scent, and her breath smells good—I can tell she’s been drinking coffee. I lean back against her, and sigh as well. Her arms around me feel so good, so strong. My mind flashes back to the instant in the store, when I considered letting Skinny Woman shoot her, and I shiver.

“Thank you, Erin. That was a bit of an unusual situation this afternoon. How do you feel?”

“Okay, I guess, but still sort of woozy. I’ll be okay. I’m just glad you are.” I feel her lips caress my neck, and shiver again, this time delightedly. Tiredness rushes through me as I finally start to relax.

“You know, I heard you in the store. That you didn’t want me to die, couldn’t betray me. You have no idea how that makes me feel, sweetlin’. I’m…proud of you. Damned proud. You’ve more than won your place in my heart, in my family, today. You already had a place, but now…you truly do. You probably saved me from a nasty wound, and the gods alone know what would happen if I ended up in a human hospital, with the x rays and scans… I’m proud of you, Erin. Truly.”

“Muhmis…”

“Mmmh-hmm?”

“If you heard that, you must have figured out I was torn, which way to go…in order to have said that to myself…is that awful, or what?”

“No, no, it’s not. I realize, now more than ever, the changes you’ve had to face. I know it’s not easy, and I know you still harbor some doubts about being mine. My serf. But I know you are, now, more than I think you know yourself. That’s what makes what you said, and did, all the more important.” She rocks me, her grip reassuring, warm. Her approval washes over me, like being stroked. Even more tension leaks out of me, and my back pops.

“Ow! Did I squeeze too hard, little ‘un?” Gwen whispers into my ear, tickling.

“No…mmmhhh, no…not too hard…ah, you’re tickling me! No fair!” I twist in her arms, and kiss her deliberately. “No more tickling today…you about had me ready to scream this morning, tickling…”

“No more? Not even like this? Or this?” The night surrounds us, and Gwen takes me to her bed, and heaven. 

Later, I wake, to find her side of the bed empty. She never seems to need much sleep; I sigh, stretching. I need sleep, but I feel wired now, and hungry. I pad softly to the kitchen and snarf a bagel or two. I feel a cold breeze from the living room, and wander in. Gwen’s just closing the door, her body glistening in the moonlight, wet from a swim. Her teeth flash white in the gloom, and I hear a chuckle.

“Up already? You were fast asleep, curled up like a kitten, when I got up a few minutes ago, sweet.” She moves over next to the fire, on the sheepskins, and towels herself dry with a terrycloth wrap she has in her hands. The firelight, flickering, highlights the high cheekbones, the full lips, and my heart thuds against my ribs. She is truly beautiful and terrible, all at once.

“I was restless, and hungry. Want one?” I offer a sesame-seed covered bagel, my favorite. Nodding, she accepts it, and pats the floor next to her. I sink down, nestling close to her, feeling the warmth of the fire in front of us. The burning logs waft scents of pine to us, and she strokes her hand down the side of my face.

“What a vacation, right? I actually meant for us to relax, not fight off ferals…what do you think of the girl, Ruthann? Salvageable?” She watches me as I think.

“Yes, I think so. She seems to have bonded with Alice. But she’ll need therapy. I know that. Seems like a nice girl, too. Are you going to keep her?”

“Yes, I was thinking about that myself, while swimming. You know, there are some large trout out there. I’ll have to get some more for breakfast or lunch tomorrow. But back to the girl…I don’t think she’ll be much trouble, and I have noticed Alice’s reactions to her. Interesting. Today, as a whole, has been interesting. That movie, Monty Python and the Holy Grail, was certainly…unique.” She laughs, bell-like in the still night air.

“I thought your deliciously ironic sense of humor would appreciate it, Muhmis. Really, did you like it or not? There are other Monty Python movies…”

“More? Good…yes, I enjoyed it. I did appreciate the humor. I like your sense of humor, Erin, too. That ‘Time Warp’ ditty you played in the vehicle was enjoyable, for more reasons than one…” She lays back, into the mound of soft woolen sheepskins, and tugs me back with her. I place my head on her arm, next to her shoulder, and run a hand down her side, feeling muscle beneath my hand moving like machined steel in oil.

“Are you wanting…” I ask, looking up into her eyes. She smiles, and shakes her head no. Part of me sighs with relief, and another whines, just a bit. I’m tired, I think, and snuggle my head under her chin. Gwen cuddles me, and runs her hand rhythmically through my short blonde-brown hair. She knows that relaxes me more than anything, and I feel deliciously warm and drowsy. I suddenly realize that for the first time I feel safe, truly safe, in her arms. I’ve always felt an edge of fear when we’re close, or when she touches me, but that’s gone now, exorcised by the horrific events, and my response to them, this afternoon. I fall asleep in Gwen’s arms, listening to her steady contented purr.


	13. Chapter Thirteen

Chapter 13

The Tahoe vacation seems like a dream, I think, as I wander through the Saks Fifth Avenue store, following Gwen as she shops. She does that as single-mindedly as most things, and my feet are getting tired. The four day shopping cum business trip to New York has been a whirlwind of meetings, shops, sex, and crinkly bags from the stores. The penthouse hotel room is filling up; we’ll have to send some of it back to Andros before we leave, I muse, as I look over a pair of black silk panties. Although not everything is so bulky…

My purchase wrapped in bright Christmas patterns, and topped with a bow, I loiter in the lobby of the store, waiting for my Muhmis to finish. She emerges, trailing some dazed clerks who carry her bags out to the limo. “Tired, darlin’?” she asks, hooking an arm in mine.

“Yes, a bit, Gwen. My feet…” I grin up into her deep, leaf-green eyes. “Nothing that putting them up for a bit won’t cure…” The car takes us smoothly through the mind-bending traffic, and I catch myself staring up at the towering caverns of streets. I don’t see how anyone could live here; there are so many people!

“Smells like hell, too, Erin! Or do you notice it, really?” Popping a brandied cherry into her mouth with relish, Gwen hands me a tissue-wrapped piece of biscotti. “Your favorite, I believe?”

“Mmh-hhmm! Thanks,” I manage, around the cookie. “Yeah, it doesn’t smell so hot. But I bet it’s worse for you, since you’re so much more sensitive to it. It’s the crowds that get me worried. And these buildings; it’s like being in a canyon. I feel…trapped or something. Not that I’m not enjoying the trip, though. It’s been fun, if a bit hectic.”

“Yes, well, we had to get some things done at the site that only I can handle, and check on the contractors. The Project is moving along quite well, though, and I’m pleased with how all of you have been working so well together. I want to introduce you to Jennifer Feinberg, the financial analyst for the firm we’re doing the IPO through…” The car glides to a stop in front of the Waldorf Astoria, on 49th Street. Man, what a place--very large, very old, very grand, 1931 Art-Deco with marble galore, recently refurbished. The sort of place visiting Saudi princes, Caribbean presidents, Chicago CEO’s and extremely wealthy old-money New Yawkers stay.

Gwen leans over and kisses me, lightly, on the lips. “Ready for dinner, or do you need a nap?” she chuckles, her eyes stroking me, making my face burn as I turn crimson. She has that effect on me, even more so now than when she first seduced me. I know what she’s thinking about, now, when before I just guessed.

“Dinner sounds good! Where, tonight?” She knows the best places to eat, that’s for sure. We walk through the lobby, Gwen directing the doormen to take our things to the penthouse. That’s another thing I’m not used to; being lordly and coolly correct with the help is not one of my strong points. She’s very nice to them, and they certainly get massive tips, so we have no complaints about the help. But I’m not used to this style of life.

In the elevator, Gwen’s arm slips around my waist. “Sure there’s not time for a nap?”

“A nap’s not what you’re hinting at, Miz I-Am-The-Energizer-Bunny Ingolfsson!” I laugh, and she joins me, after a moment of puzzlement.

“Oh, that ad on the vidscreen…television…that you were talking about the other night. Now I remember. A bunny, hunh? Can a bunny do—”

“Gwen! Quit!” I’m giggling, trying to twist out of her playful grip. “Wait till we get in the room, please—”

“Aha…so shy! Charming,” Gwen murmurs into my hair, and my knees melt. The double doors seem a long way down the hall, but the elevator operator is studiously being uninterested, although I can see a blush creeping up her neck, past her starched white collar. Gwen notices, too, and smiles, shark-wide. “Hmm…”

I realize what she’s thinking, as her eyes move appreciatively over the slender form of the elevator attendant. The girl is kinda butch, too; not bad at all. And blushing like a forest fire in August! Well, I am, too, and I am getting accustomed to Gwen’s pheromone blasts. I wonder if…

“No, not just now, I don’t think. Perhaps before we leave,” Gwen whispers into my ear, breath warm and tickling me deliciously. “She is a nice one, though…and that blush. I wonder how far down it goes?”

**

“We really should have Mueller remove this scar after the baby’s born, Erin…” Her fingers trace down the tender skin of my back, and goose bumps follow. I’m stretched out on the massive bed, resting after our most recent friskiness. I sigh, and arch my back, as she begins to tickle.

“If you think so, Gwen. But does it have to be him? He makes my skin crawl. Yick. Is he going to be the obstetrician? Please say no!”

“No.”

“No, seriously, is he?”

“No, not unless there are complications, and the scans show everything quite normal so far. If you like, I can handle the delivery myself; I was a medical specialist once, for twenty years or so, and our medicine is, to put it mildly, more advanced. I’ll have Shawonda trained to assist.”

I sit up, pulling the satin sheets up around me. No matter how many times I’ve been with her, I’m still shy. The pregnancy shows as a thickening bulge around my waist, but I am surprised at how good I look now. I actually had a waist, before the pregnancy started to show, and my legs look great. I recall looking in surprise at the woman in the mirror in that dress shop yesterday. Is this me? My bust is getting bigger, that’s for damn sure. I’ll be Dolly Parton, soon. Need a cart to carry them around on…

Gwen glances over from the floor, where she’s stretching, and laughs. “A cart? Not that bad, certainly. You were nice before, but now…so nice and full…lovely.” She sinks down onto her knees and bends backwards in an impossibly flexible, back-arching bow; her forehead rests on the carpet, and she looks up at me. Grinning, she tenses her whole body, and pushes off with her feet. For a moment, she’s balanced on her head, still with the white-toothed smile on, and then she flips over, launching herself upwards with her hands. She lands without a sound, her body perfectly balanced, poised.

One hand grasps an ankle, and brings it up smoothly past her head, resting it on her back. “Enjoying yourself?” my Muhmis asks, noticing the direction of my gaze. I duck my head into the pillows.

“Shameless! Shameless human pretzel woman!”

“Not human, thank you very much. But shameless, yes; a pretzel? You could call me that. And I’m certainly a woman…” Her deep purring chuckle takes the chill out of the words she’s just said. 

“Sorry. I just let my mouth go on automatic…”

“I don’t mind that in the least, Erin. Not in the least.” She’s put that leg down, and drapes the other one in a similar pose over the other shoulder. She grunts, tugging at the leg. “I need to have a good workout soon, that’s true.”

“So where are we going for dinner? You never got back to it, and we got…um, busy. Now I’m really hungry!”

“I thought,” Gwen puts her leg down, and stretches her hands, fingers linked, above her head; muscles stand out like an anatomy lecture model…of a non-human, I remind myself, careful not to subvocalize the thought. That can be difficult. I’ve taken up the habit of humming Rocky Horror or Monty Python tunes to myself, as a precaution, or something like “Anchors Aweigh”.

She continues: “Perhaps a bit of room service? They do have some delicious meals here…and they know me, since we’ve basically made this the IngolfTech place to stay in New York City…sound good, sweetlin’? Or did you have your heart set on going out?” She comes to sit on the bed next to me.

Gwen’s slight sweat smells good; comforting. Somehow over the last few days, I’ve managed, just barely, to keep up with her physical needs, but I’m wearing out. She runs her hands through my hair, and then cups my face gently. “Would you like to go dancing, perhaps? After dinner?”

“Sure! That sounds fun. With you along, it should be…interesting. At least I won’t have to worry about muggers…” I lean over and kiss her, and then scamper into the huge marbled bathroom.

I hear her calling room service, to order the dinners, and then the sound of the shower drowns out everything else. I sigh, relaxing in the relative privacy. Soaping up, I run my hands across the part of the scar I can reach… I remember seeing it for the first time in the Naval hospital, and how funny it looked, like something from Frankenstein. Peter jokes with me about it, calling it my zipper; I sure as hell hope no one ever unzips me. That would be unfortunate…

And messy. The man who died as Gwen’s hand gutted him in the grocery store—that was messy. The expression on her face was so…lustful. It was really horrifying, but then she is a predator, I reason. She’s doing what she was designed to do. I just wish she was designed to do less that way and more some other way. My hair is getting longer, and I smooth some conditioner into it. The texture’s changed a bit since the pregnancy, and I need to spend more time on it.

The feeling of my hands massaging my scalp relaxes me, and I sigh again. Ruthann and Alice had certainly bonded; there was more to Alice than meets the eye, that’s for sure. I wonder if she’s a survivor of abuse or something…I bet she is. Alice hasn’t told me anything in particular, but from hints, and things not said, and some of her nightmares I’ve experienced, when we have pleasured Muhmis together, I bet she is. Good kid, too; practical as hell but sweet, under the tougher exterior.

“Dinner in half an hour, Erin. Almost done, or do you mind if I join you?” Gwen’s voice cuts through my reverie, and I startle.

“That’s fine; I’m just rinsing my hair. Do you want me to…serve you? Like the other night?” I step out of the shower, and wait before reaching for a towel. She’s standing nude, a bathrobe over one arm, a smile on her face.

“No, that’s fine. Go ahead and get dried off. I’m just going to jump in and out. I wish I had one of the hand-held cleansers we have…be more convenient sometimes than a wet shower.” She pecks me lightly on the cheek, her voice full of approval for me. It had been kind of embarrassing when she ordered me to bathe her the other night, but I obeyed. She’s happy that I remembered to ask her tonight.

I get dressed, choosing a pair of black jeans and a full white sweater. It covers the bulge up pretty well, but won’t for long. It doesn’t seem like I’m five months pregnant. Alice and I could have a competition, I laugh to myself, to see who sticks out further…and I sure never envisioned going to a bar in NYC, let alone going pregnant…or with my boss; the train of thought goes on. Who’s not only stunningly beautiful but from the future, and nonhuman, on top of all that…gee. My life has gotten interesting. What was that Chinese curse? May you live in interesting times? Been there, doing that…

Dinner’s wheeled in on carts; the steaks done to perfection, the broccoli and rice pilaf steaming. A coffee service is brought in, and a dessert tray follows. The servers deftly seat me and put the fragrant plates in front of me, and Gwen joins me. The salad is crisp, its vinaigrette dressing piquant. She’s right, of course, I think, as I sink my teeth into a roll, this is a good meal. I reach for a cup of coffee…fancy china and all…

“Remember, only one cup. More than that is too much, with the other caffeine you’ve had today, sweet girl.” Gwen’s eating neatly but enormously; her salad has already disappeared and her 16 ounce steak is rapidly vanishing. I nod, and pour a cup for her, as well.

After dinner, we lounge on the leather couch in the penthouse’s living room. Gwen’s nursing a brandy, and seems in the mood to talk. She turns to me, a hand pushing a stray strand of mahogany-red hair back from her face, eyes alight. “Tell me, Erin, why did you and Peter, and Shawonda, get out of the Navy? Separate reasons? Or the same?”

“I guess for about the same reasons, but Shawonda and I haven’t talked much about it. She never says much about the Nimitz, that’s for sure. Even less than I do. Or did. She was a pharmacist’s mate second class, and worked well forward of us. But we all sort of hung out together, you know. She was in my Basic class, too, so that was another reason we liked each other. Mutual hatred of the company commanders or drill instructors has forged many friendships, that’s the way it works.”

“Why did you get out?”

“Um…well, it wasn’t really my plan, at first. I figured I’d stay in, even if they gave me a profile.”

“What?”

“Ah, a medical profile, from my burns and internal injuries…my zipper, you know, old girl…” I smile up at her, watching the expression on her face. Her eyes seem to be deep green pools, filled with light, that you could dive into and swim in forever. “Even if they did that, said I couldn’t do certain things, I still planned on staying in. And then it all changed…”

I pause, remembering. “They had a huge Congressional investigation going on, looking for someone to blame, you know? Captain Brophy died on the bridge, so they couldn’t crucify him. They went after the weapons control officers and the XO, made them testify and all. It had to be someone’s fault that so many missiles got through…that the ship went down.”

“While all this was going on, there was the additional Navy inquiry and courts martial process, and they kept us survivors at a defunct Naval Training Center, in Orlando, Florida. We weren’t allowed to go off base, and only to call family, or have family brought on base. The reporters figured out where we were, eventually, and started camping out around the base, making a nuisance of themselves.”

Gwen nods, and strokes my leg encouragingly. I go on:

“Once I got out of the hospital there, I was moved into a barracks. To keep my mind off what it wanted to dwell on,” the screams of the dying, I think to myself, the sight of the deck of part of the C+C being squashed two feet away from the overhead, and what was sandwiched in between…I clear my throat. “ I volunteered to be the laundry petty officer. High stress job, right?”

The Draka next to me chuckles softly. She shifts on the couch, and lays down, her head in my lap, eyes holding mine. “Go on, laundry petty officer…”

“I was authorized to leave the barracks to get supplies at the BX—base exchange, a sort of retail store thing—and I walked over there one day to get detergent. When I walked back to the barracks, I saw all the youngsters marching to classes and all. They still have the nuke schools and stuff there, but no more recruits. That’s where I went to Basic, you know. Anyway, I looked at all their freshly scrubbed faces, so alive, so young, and remembered my friends. The ones who didn’t make it.”

I finger her hair, gently running it through my hands, stroking it from her broad forehead. I’ve never talked to anyone about this, I think. “So…thinking about that, I went back to our facility. It was a group of barracks, surrounded by a wire mesh fence topped with four or five strands of razor wire. The armed guard let me back in, after checking my ID, and once inside, I stopped. A breeze was stirring; that in itself was surprising, in sweaty old Orlando. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw our flag. I mean, the American flag. Not your flag, silly Gwen,” I pat her nose with a forefinger, enjoying her sardonically raised eyebrow for a moment.

“It was flapping slightly, ever so slightly, in the breeze, which is what caught my eye. I turned to look at it, and saw it through the razor wire.” God, the memory is so clear, even now, years later. The heat, the sullen humidity making sweat pour off my face. The sound of the guards checking someone else’s identification, the clang of the gates opening and closing…the flag, the wire…the realization, cold at the pit of my stomach. “I realized I was on the wrong side of the wire, or the flag was. Seeing it like that did something to me, Gwen. I’m not a big patriot, loudmouthed and goofy, but I believed that America stood for some, I don’t know, values…”

“Seeing it from that angle made you feel differently, child?” she asks quietly, taking one of my hands in hers.

“Yes. It broke my heart.”

Silence fills the room for a long moment; Gwen leaves me the privacy of my own thoughts. I open my eyes, blinking away the tears, and look down at her. She’s staring off into a middle distance, her mind far away. I wonder what she’s remembering. She squeezes my hand gently, and returns her leaf green gaze to my face.

“I’m sorry for the pain, Erin.” Her face’s serious, voice soothing. “It is hard for you to talk about it, that’s clear. Thanks for sharing it with me.”

“I…thanks for listening. Sorry. Didn’t mean to snuffle. Anyway…Peter and Shawonda, I think, and most of the survivors, had the same experience. We were seen as reminders of a big mistake in the Navy, and it was just easier to get out. It still hurts, though. Some. And I’ve never talked about this with anyone, really. Not even Peter. We’ve sort of danced around the issue a bit, but nothing much. I’ve talked more with him though, about the sinking. He wants to know, since he doesn’t remember much. I think maybe he’s lucky that way.”

“What does America mean now, to you?”

“I’m not sure. It’s like…my friends are my family; they’re the most important thing to me. And the baby. And you, too. The politicians fritter away everything; waste money that could help folks. I’d like to turn things around. I vote, still. Always have. But I’m not sure it means anything anymore. The America my grandparents and Luann’s parents taught me about isn’t the same one that exists today.”

“Things will change rather drastically when the Project is completed. Politically, especially. I think that’s something you and Peter have been discussing at quite some length, haven’t you?”

“Yep. Hell, Gwen, I’m still coming to grips with everything. And the serf thing—the slavery thing—it may be harder to quell Americans than you think, meaning no disrespect, Muhmis…unless you sell it to them somehow. The freedom idea is pretty well embedded in our culture, more so than any other, I think. It could be rather ugly here, unless you have some way of presenting it so people won’t completely flip out.”

“I know. I’m thinking about it. I’d like to avoid the wastefulness of what happened here after the Final War on the Prime Line, the biobombs and the killsweeps; some of the guerilla fighting was fun, but after a while it got to be monotonous, and it was so hard to make the last ones give up. We ought to do better than the Old Domination; they had a tendency to brute-force solutions. Hmmm. The conversion to servus genetics will help, of course. We can do that right away with a series of contagious tailored paraviruses released into the environment – a good Domination lab could have them ready in a month, it’ll be much quicker than the old methods that required individual attention, and all the children born after that will be servus. As the older humans die off naturally, and we alter educational systems and economies, introduce our technologies...”

Gwen sits up, wrapping her arms around her knees, eyes narrowing in thought. “Hmmm. Perhaps it might be wise to hold off on widespread Draka settlement until then. Just take over at the top political level and rule mostly through humans and human institutions for a while. That ought to be fairly straightforward; a couple of orbital battle stations and the governments will have no choice but to submit. Particle-beams and precision kinetic-energy strikes are extremely convincing arguments. Then again, as we eliminate war and disease, we’ll get a certain degree of acceptance, I think… Not that it matters in the long run, really, Erin. And if things here get too bothersome, there are ways to deal with it. Some less pleasant than others, I might add. Something else for me to set up, just in case.” Sighing, she stands up, leans over to me. Our lips meet, a long, hard kiss. “Ready to go out?”

“Uhm, I guess so. Have any idea where?”

She stands, and pulls me gently to my feet. “Come here a moment, little ‘un. Give me a hug.” As she envelopes me, she whispers into my ear, “You can make a difference, Erin. You will. Believe me. I want thinkers like you among my humans. I value your…feel for how humans here will react.” I shiver, both with delight and with a sinking fear.

Releasing me, she walks over to a desk. “This guide lists some places. Can you tell me what some of these abbreviations mean? I feel in the mood for something…” she smiles devilishly, “different. Exciting.”

“Okay, let’s see,” I say, taking the slim book from her hands and flipping through it. “Different as in…”

“Sex.”

“Oh. Um. Okay.” I pick my jaw up off the plush carpet. Urk. She is direct, ain’t she? “How about a gay club or something? They usually have great dance floors. I’ve never been to one up here, though. Do you want a walk on the wild side?” I remember Peter talking about one of his vacations up here; if I could remember the club’s name…

“Oh, yes. A walk on the wild side sounds just fine. I’m hungry…” She licks her lips, and I blush even more deeply. “Find anything yet? What does ‘BD/SM’ mean?” She leans over my shoulder, pressing against me, a hand casually caressing my ass. I tingle all over…this will be an unusual evening…


	14. Chapter Fourteen

Chapter 14

There’s a new game / we like to play you see  
A game with added reality  
You treat me like a dog/ get me down on my knees  
We call it master and servant/ we call it master and servant  
It’s a lot like life/ This play between the sheets  
With you on top and me underneath  
Forget all about equality/ let’s play  
Master and servant/ let’s play master and servant  
It’s a lot like life / and that’s what’s appealing  
If you despise that throwaway feeling  
From disposable fun/ then this is the one  
Domination’s the name of the game  
In bed or in life/ they’re both just the same  
Except in one you’re fulfilled at the end of the day  
Let’s play master and servant…

Erin’s music, Depeche Mode; strange gods-damned music, these humans have, I chuckle to myself. I dress carefully. There’s a sort of childish pleasure to walking among humans disguised, like make-believe when you’re young, playing at Draka and Yankees or Settlers and Zulus. I’m in the mood for release after the bruising but successful business of the past week, ready to cast off care and caution. Safe enough, right now. And this ought to be even more of a game than usual; these rituals the humans have, playing at mastery… delicious, that I’ll walk among them and play their game, while it’s still a game, and know that soon, so soon, it’ll be real.

Erin bought me this underwear as a surprise; it’s black, and rather lacy. My breasts don’t need support the way a human’s do – the bracing for the adipose tissue is different – but costume is for looks, anyway. For that matter, so are drakensis breasts, I think – I’m scarcely going to need them for nursing an infant, although I could if I had to. And, of course, for pleasure.

Tight hose of black Shantung silk, hugging the skin to show the movement of muscle and tendon in my legs. A sleeveless thigh-length tunic of thicker silk, also black except for twin Drakon symbols on the high collar in bullion and rubies. Supple knee-boots, and a belt of linked gold plates inlaid with black niello in twining knots of fanged skulls. The last touch is a pair of ceremonial war-saps that I’ve had made up here to the old pattern; fingerless black leather gloves with silvered steel insets over the knuckles, secured by crossing, studded-leather straps up my forearms. I turn and look at myself in the mirror, hands on hips. 

Not bad, I think. In fact, very similar to what I wore to the Archon Day celebrations in 393. That had been the last time I was in Archona for the Day, three years after my retirement. Poor Alexis looked like a buddu-lion had bitten him for an instant, when he spotted me in the receiving line; I think that for one horrible second, against all logic and adult control, he was convinced that I was coming to take his shiny new political toy away from him.

Odd how I don’t miss hunting, much, I think, remembering a buddu-lion on Mars running up my spear, six legs thrashing as it tried to kill me before it died. Well, I’d spent years at it, before the molehole accident… and this is more real. Hunting a planet and an intelligent species, hot on their track.

Erin is looking at me with a stunned expression on her face. I raise an eyebrow as my hands go behind my head to club the hair into a short thick fighting braid and bind it with a long tie of cobra-skin. There may be vigorous movement tonight.

“You… you look like the most beautiful, most dangerous, the god-damned most butch woman in the world,” she blurts, her hazel eyes dancing. 

I laugh, a peal that rings from the walls, glad to see her getting into the spirit; even without turning up my pheromone emission, even with the aftereffects of what we were at before dinner, I can scent a trace of desire for me. 

I like this wench; of all the myriads of serfs I’ve owned over my centuries, not more than a score or two have been more appealing, more interesting, more sheer fun. 

Perhaps… yes, as Planetary Archon I’ll have the authority. I’ve already dangled it as a prize for humans whose cooperation I need. I’ll have her given another life, when the conquest is complete. Her and a few of the others here; it’s not just sentiment, but administrative continuity until the transition to servus is complete. And I’ll have another century of her. Shall I tell her now? No, no hurry. Soon though. In a way it’s a pity that the law denies immortality to chattel, although I can see the point.

“If I grasp your cultural symbology right, I am the, ah, most butch woman in the world,” I say. “More than any of your species, of either gender. In fact, you’re all… what’s the word… femme to me. Dangerous certainly. I’m glad that you find me beautiful, Erin.”

She nods speechlessly. I pick up a riding crop I’ve bought to go with this ensemble and walk over to the window, bending the spring-steel-cored leather in my hands. The skyline of New York spreads out before me, like towers of crystal into the night. It hides the stars, but the streets are a throbbing flow of color, and the patterns of heat rising into the autumn night are another symphony of shades, towers and walls and curtains. Crude, inefficient, vile of scent, often disgusting in detail, but the sight has a raw vitality to it that makes my blood sing and curls the lips back from my teeth in a silent snarl of challenge-acceptance. All this I will take, and… mount it, I think. The sexual symbolism is appropriate here, more than the hunger to devour, although linked.

Erin comes up beside me, carrying the little leather satchel I’ve given her. “Do any of your cities look like this?” she asks curiously.

I shake my head and put an arm around her waist; the thickening there makes me feel a flush of warmth, a kindly feeling. Touching her is as pleasant as stroking a cat, even when I’m not taking pleasure of her.

“We build lower, except for a few official buildings, and spread out more, and we don’t need roads the way you do. There’s a city on the Vallis Marineris Ocean shore, on Mars… Variana, it’s called. At night, you can sail in and see it stretching up the cliffsides three thousand feet, lights and marble and gardens, and people – my people – launching themselves off stages with artificial wings, soaring over it under the twin moons… but even that doesn’t have quite the same look as this. Not so concentrated. We drakensis aren’t gregarious enough to sustain a hive like this. I’d go berserk if I had to live here for more than a few years, but it’s grand, no question of it.”

“Is there anything left of it on the Prime Line?”

I shake my head absently. “No, just a small research station and oak-forest growing over ruins. You can see the melted stumps of buildings rising through them, here and there. Multiple high-megaton airbursts, right at the start of the Final War. Pity. The Prime Line New York wasn’t quite like this, though, it was the capital of that United States… let’s go.”

We get looks as we walk through the lobby of the Waldorf-Astoria; I can smell the lust, fear, anger, bewilderment in my wake. Erin gets a share, too; she was always comely, but my tending and the pregnancy have given her a tautness and a glow. I hear a babble of subvocalized speculation about us and smile a little. Imaginative poverty, I think. If they only knew.

It’s cool outside, which damps the odors a little. I push mentally, and screen out the most disagreeable ones from my consciousness; that’s difficult to do, without dulling your nose overall. Few Draka I’ve met could do it before their second century.

The taxi-ride is short; we’re going down into the district they call SoHo, lower buildings, many of them quite handsome, brick rather than concrete, converted factories with fanciful trim in white stone; some of them have murals on their walls, a homelike touch. The usual dirt, and a derelict lies among cardboard boxes. I tsk, shaking my head, and hand him a hundred-dollar bill.

“Um, Gwen – he’ll just drink it,” Erin says beside me, looking around wide-eyed at the pulsing, pushing crowd. Sometimes I forget this city is as strange to her as to me; it’s a big planet, in a way bigger here, without the uniformity of the Domination

“I know, sweetlin’,” I say.. “That’ll put him out of his pain sooner. Disgraceful. When I’m in charge, we’ll clean up that sort of thing right away. There’ll be no need for brain malfunctions like that; one simple treatment, and they’ll be well.”

Humans are so fragile, I think. Addiction is impossible in the Final Society. Humans, though… always trembling on the brink of madness, a sapient’s forebrain perched uneasily on top of a pile of evolutionary relics. On the other hand, perhaps that’s what gives some of them the wild creativity I can only envy. Certainly servus have more of it that we do, and they’re closer to human. But allowing this… waste… is revolting.

We’re less conspicuous here; this part of the city is even more outlandishly varied in costume and behavior than uptown around the Waldorf. I laugh at one specimen, hair in orange-and-purple spikes, various parts of his body pierced by jewelry. Why such a scrawny one should want to call attention to his physique is beyond me, though.

“If someone did that to a serf back on the Prime Line, some kindhearted soul would probably challenge them to a first-blood duel for excessive roughness,” I laugh in Erin’s ear, and lead her along by the hand. Tonight I don’t even have to throttle back the strike-reflex at being accidentally bumped… much, at least.

As we walk, I sing quietly, a local song that I heard on a golden oldies station, as they call it; Erin can catch it, and she starts giggling helplessly:

I saw a werewolf walkin’ through the streets of Soho with a menu in his hand  
\-- Doin’ the Werewolves of London --  
He was looking for a place called Lee Ho Foks  
Gonna buy a big dish of beef chow mein  
Werewolves of London again!

The club – the HardBody – is not far from here; I can hear the thumping of the music, an insistent growling beat, and under it the scent of packed humanity.

He’s the hairy-handed Gent  
Who ran amuck in Kent;   
\-- Doin’ the Werewolves of London  
Lately he’s been overheard in Mayfair;  
You’d better stay away from him,  
He’ll rip your lungs out, Jim!  
But I’d like to meet his tailor…  
Werewolves of London again!

There’s no problem getting in, beyond the cover charge. The crowd inside is on three levels, rising around the main dance floor; mostly males, but a scattering of females… and some very good imitations. The clothing makes the streets of SoHo outside look staid, with a predominance of leather and metal.

Erin’s eyes are wide, taking in the contortions going on below. “Just a second, sweetlin’,” I say. “We should fit in.”

Her eyes go even wider as I take the collar out of the satchel, buckle it around her neck and attach the leash, and she gives an intriguing subliminal squeak. I grin and wink, chucking her under the chin. “Sometimes the best way to deceive is to flaunt the facts,” I say. “Let’s go!”

The heat blasts into my face, and noise, and a wave of smells – human sweat and rut, alcohol, marijuana. I cleave a way to the bar, shoulder-first, leading Erin behind me on the light steel chain. One burly male in black cowhide and chains turns with a snarl as I move him gently but irresistibly aside. I snarl back, much louder, my teeth an inch from his face. His eyes go huge, and he surges back himself, leaving a trail of curses and glares, all directed at him. 

I adjust my pheromones, controlling my instinctive response and racking up the levels, lust and intimidation combined – about seventy-thirty, more of the fear response would be too inhibiting. I can scent Erin’s instant trained reaction, and the more ragged feedback from the ferals all around me. Heads turn, following clues slipped into their minds far below the conscious level; I’m tapping directly into their limbic systems.

I laugh as we reach the bar. “What’ll it be?” the youth behind it says, smiling, then grinning as the pheromones hit him and he sees Erin beside me. “And one for your girlfriend?”

He’s wearing a tuxedo and tight black shorts, long blond hair falling about his shoulders, and he’s easy on the eyes – for that matter, the quality of looks in here is far higher than on the streets. The clientele seem to work at keeping their bodies taut, for starters; and many of them move quite gracefully, for humans

“Three Harvey Wallbangers, straight up in a row for me,” I say cheerfully. I focus my voice so the tones will cut through the background blur here, tuning the harmonics. “My slave here will have orange juice and soda.”

“Three?” he says.

“Three. I’m a superhuman dimensional traveler and that’s just a pick-me-up to me,” I say.

He laughs and pours, his hands deft. Erin’s shoulders are shaking with laughter. Impossible, I hear her mutter.

“No, just highly improbable,” I reply, and down the first, rolling the glass over my lip with a sideways sweep of my hand. “To you, Erin -- you gorgeous, fuller-by-the-day creature,” I say. “To New York – for limited periods, delightful,” with the second. “And to good hunting.” The third goes down, and a glow starts in my middle. Not nearly enough to make me drunk¸ of course – that would take two bottles of spirits and wouldn’t last long even so – but enough to spark my mood.

Erin is still laughing, raising her drink to me. A pity she can’t have anything stronger, but we must think of little Alexandra’s birth-present.

“Now let’s dance,” I say, and toss her the end of the leash.

The floor is crowded, but we soon have a little room. I drop down onto my hands, feet upward, then fling myself head-high and jack-knife, coming down in a full split. Up again, dancing around Erin, miming out a play of stalk and taunt. She picks up from my movements, her movements bending to the playlet, a cowering, then following…

After a while she is a little winded. I finish by sweeping her into an arm, bent far over like the partner in what the humans call a tango, kissing her long and hard. Some of the onlookers whoop or applaud, and I wave as I take the leash back, flicking it over my shoulder and leading Erin behind me, towards a table I’ve spotted one level up, overlooking the dancers.

There is room for four there, just; and only two occupants. One is an older male, in the leather pants and boots and jacket so many here are wearing; he has short-cut black hair and a little stubble, a mustache. Impressively muscled for a human; that shows, because his jacket is open to show a t-shirt strained across his pectorals. The other male is much younger, blond, in a suit that says Wall Street after a little exposure to this city. He gives me a bit of a glare as I hook a chair over with one foot.

“Mind if we join you?” I say, sitting. 

I toss a cushion from another seat on the floor beside me, and Erin kneels on it at my gesture. She gives me a brief glance of mingled amusement and exasperation as she sinks down; it’s no strain, after the fitness program I’ve had her on these past eighteen months, not to mention the lessons in Domination etiquette. That puts her in a position to lean her elbows on the low table. I signal to the waiter.

“Diet coke for her, vodka tonic for me, double,” I say.

The older male smiles and extends his hand. “George Delaklopolu,” he says. A very faint trace of an accent; but I think English is his native language. First-generation immigrant, I suppose. “Eric Williams,” the younger blond says. His first baffled hostility is fading fast as the pheromones have their way with him, turning to sheer disbelief as the effects begin to register on his conscious mind.

“Saw your moves out on the floor,” George says. “Not baaaad at all.”

“Thank you,” I say, smiling back at him and taking his hand. I squeeze just enough to bring a startled look to his face. “I’m Gwendolyn Ingolfsson, entrepreneur and specialist in domination and subjection. I’m working on conquering the world and reducing the population to abject slavery for all eternity… this is Erin, one of my personal serfs.”

Everyone around the table laughs, for differing reasons; Erin shoots me one horrified glance, before shaking helplessly herself. That sets me off again. Ah, it’s been a long time since I enjoyed myself this much! I think. Socially, that is. There’s an interest to teasing and seduction that’s better, sometimes, than snapping your fingers and commanding. A joke with more than one level. 

“You’ve got her well-trained,” the man in leather grins, and points to the riding crop thonged around my wrist. Subvocally he’s counting up the value of my clothes and ornaments, and is impressed. “Do you have to punish her often?”

“Oh, no,” I say. “I’ve given her a sound spanking or two, of course –”

“Gwen!” Erin says, and covers her beet-red face with her hands.

“— but she’s naturally… well-adapted.” I lick my lips. George laughs delightedly. I don’t believe this chick, he subvocalizes. Talk about wild and crazy… maybe… hell, I have before, and if Eric doesn’t like it he can –

A list of rather pleasant-sounding activities follows; I look at George with renewed respect. So many of these humans are full of absurd taboos and inhibitions; even Erin, still, though she’s responding nicely to training in the erotic arts. I should make allowances; twenty-five years of conditioning take some time to dissolve.

We talk, and I slowly adjust the level of my pheromones, tuning to their feedback, turning the apprehension down to just a tang of fear, weaving some comfort-approval into the mixture. After a while we dance, in various combinations. The humans have been drinking a little, which makes them more vulnerable, less subject to conscious conditioning; the dancing speeds their metabolisms, too. Soon I can detect the symptoms, the hard musky underscent, the unconscious turning towards me… not to mention signs that this culture’s clothing make fairly obvious.

“Ah –” George begins. Jesus, he’s subvocalizing. I’ll never live it down if I leave with her, but fuck those slipdicks’ opinions --

“I believe they have a place called the BackSide Room here,” I say, leaning back.

Gwen! You can’t be – Erin begins to subvocalize. 

“Oh, don’t worry, my sweet pregnant pet,” I say. “You’re just going to hold my things for about… oh, an hour or a little less. Men have no staying power.” I kiss her, and grin, speaking softly into her mouth. “And you can watch. Don’t worry, the night is young.” She quivers to my touch; the pheromones are panspecific, of course, and she’s reacting as well. More than the others, if anything, since I don’t have to break through resistance to the wrong visual stimuli, with her. She’ll still be able to walk, probably with a wobble…

Oh, jeezie petes, she whispers to herself. interesting times… god almighty, wild side, little did I know… thought I’d seen everything...

“I do not believe this,” George is saying, slapping the table. “Chicks just don’t do that.” His boyfriend is grinning, eyes a little glazed, tie loose and shirt open.

“If you’ve got the guts for it,” I say, holding his eyes. He swallows, sweat shining in the thick black stubble, still a little fear there, but it nerves him. This one might be actually dangerous, in a combat situation where reactions didn’t matter – space, for instance.

“All right.”

“You may be getting more than you bargained for,” I taunt him as we rise.

The BackSide Room is big and dim; to human eyes at least, a twilight cave where whispered words echo, sounds, groans, flesh on flesh. Well-appointed, and kept clean – the scents are merely stimulating. A bit like one of the off-side chambers at the end of the Archon’s Day parties, except that Erin and I are the only two females. Usually it’s the younger crowd who go in for that sort of thing, no harm to it beyond a serf a little bruised and shaken the next day – being with more than one drakensis tends to get stressful for them-- but even the staidest oldster cuts loose now and then. 

“Hey!” George says as I grip his arm and whirl him around. “Hunnh!” as I strip the jacket down from his shoulders, pinning him. “Hmmmphf!” as I bend him back and kiss him; he tastes good, and I keep it up until he’s breathless, then push him to the ground and pin him with a foot. 

“Wait your turn,” I say to him, seeing the expression of shocked delight clearly enough; he’s like a beacon, with the increased blood flow. To Eric, standing uncertainly. “Well, what are you waiting for, pretty buck?” I go on to him, as I undo the clasp of my belt, handing it to Erin, who is standing to one side with a look of pole axed incredulity on her face. 

“Strip down and kneel, buck. It’s going to take more than one human to please me adequately tonight.”

**

I’m still recovering from seeing Gwen in her new outfit as we walk out of the hotel. My god, that woman! If you looked in a dictionary under “butch”, she’d have her picture there. My knees are tingling and I have to focus on walking. I wonder what’s in the satchel she’s given me to carry; it’s not heavy. The Draka next to me makes me feel safe, oddly enough, in the streets of New York. My head comes up to the middle of her upper arm…she occasionally has to check her stride, so that I don’t have to trot. Long, long legs…lovely legs. Hmm-mmmh!

The cab ride down to SoHo was interesting, with Gwen’s hands roaming, I think as we walk into the bar, I’m pleasantly aware of how people were looking at us. At her, mostly. She stands out in any crowd, and this crowd is more than willing to give her the once or twice over. 

When Gwen pulls out the leash, I almost faint. I do squeak, before I remember she can hear it, and then try to clamp down on my subvocalizations. She’s fully aware, though, that the collar and chain has excited me, as well as sort of frightening me. Talk about science fiction double feature time…she leads me onto the dance floor, people clearing out of our way like wheat in a windstorm. She tugs the leash, and I look up into her face, lit by the flashing disco lights. Her eyes glitter like a cat’s, and she grins.

The music throbs, and so do I as Gwen circles me, stalking me in dance. I turn to her, pretending to be afraid…but you are, really, says the tiny cold voice in my mind, sardonically. Very afraid. As you should be…we circle each other, moving rhythmically to the music. I can dance pretty well, but Gwen’s moves are so athletic, so smooth. I feel like a country yokel trying to dance with a ballerina or something. I laugh as she finally captures me, holding me in a dip, her lips hot on mine, tongue thrusting into my mouth. I gasp, and Gwen chuckles. She takes the leash and leads me off the dance floor, to the sound of cheers and claps. I duck my head in embarrassment. Never had that happen before. Gwen walks in front of me, holding the chain lightly, and guides us upstairs.

What are you doing, I wonder, as we join two men sitting at a table overlooking one of the three dance floors. The music’s still thumping and my nose wants to sneeze at all the smoke in the air. Gwen tosses a cushion from one of the seats onto the floor, and I realize what I’m supposed to do. You don’t forget lessons from her. I kneel, leaning my arms on the table and waiting. Gwen’s apparently interested in these two; one’s a tough-looking customer and the other’s a Wall Street snob. Intriguing combination. They look me over, appreciating the fact that I’m a slave for her. Shit, if only they knew…I try not to grin like a possum.

Gwen manages to make me turn a deeper shade of crimson than I have for most of the evening when she casually describes her spanking me… I can’t believe this. The memory fills me with conflicting feelings: fear, at being held so helpless; anger, at being swatted like a child; shame, for not being as strong as she is, and lust. Pure, simple, no-strings-attached lust. That became the dominant emotion after the spanking was done, both times—she merely fucked my brains out. That’s all. Simple. Made the connection entirely too strong to forget: obey, and enjoy; disobey, and sit carefully for a week.

The men are reacting to her, as I am, especially after remembering what I just did. We dance, first all of us together, then Gwen pairing with George, the tough guy, and me with Eric, the Wall Street guru. The combinations shift back and forth on the dance floor, and I’m mesmerized by the way Gwen’s seducing all of us at once. The men are definitely getting turned on. We finally make our way off the dance floor, Gwen leading us through the crowd. George clears his throat, and starts to say something, but Gwen cuts him off.

“I believe they have a place called the BackSide Room here,” she says, and I mentally blurt out Gwen! You can’t be – 

“Oh, don’t worry, my sweet pregnant pet,” Gwen says. “You’re just going to hold my things for about… oh, an hour or a little less. Men have no staying power.” She kissed me, and grins, speaking softly into my mouth. “And you can watch. Don’t worry, the night is young.” 

I’m quivering to her touch. I’ll still be able to walk, I think, I hope…oh, jeezie petes, interesting times… god almighty, wild side, little did I know… thought I’d seen everything...  
**  
“Don’t be so shocked, little ‘un,” I say, standing astraddle with arms outstretched; it’s the easiest posture for Erin, who’s wiping me down.

I wedged the door of the sanitary cubicle – bathroom, the humans call it – so that we wouldn’t be interrupted. There’s water and paper towels, and I brought some supplies along in the leather satchel. It’s quieter here, smelling mostly of disinfectant; quite nice, tile and gilt mirrors. HardBody must be doing well.

My serf’s hands are shaking as she crouches and finishes her work; I stroke her head kindly, running my fingers through her cap of brown-bronze hair. It’s not really fair to expose her to this much pheromonal stimulus without release, but we can deal with that later.

“That was… educational, Muhmis,” she says, handing me fresh undergarments. “You really meant a walk on the wild side, didn’t you?” I nod, with a smile half satiation and half hunger. “Ah… isn’t it a little bit dangerous to be so… frank with people?”

I shake my head, stretching and dressing. “Not at all, as long as I don’t do it all the time or in the wrong places. Humans edit what their senses take in to fit their preconceptions – well, every sentient we’ve met or created does that, but humans do it more. By tomorrow, this will be a blur for poor George and Eric; the conversational parts of it, at least. And if they did talk, who would listen? That’s the beauty of an incredible story; it’s not credible. And New York has plenty of crazies, so it’ll get garbled down to the general noise level of alien abductions, if someone did talk. Alien seductress in a gay bar in SoHo?” 

I put on a local accent for a moment. “Puh¬leeez. Someone who really knew would be an entirely different matter, of course. They might get listened to in the wrong places. There.”

I take the belt and clip it on. The dozen drinks are making me a little giddy, and the pleasure I’ve just taken from the two humans leaves me feeling loose and relaxed, a little hungry for food, ready for excitement. Homelike, I think. Most of my sexual contact with humans here has been with a limited sample, equivalent to my close personal body-servants at home; and much of it’s had an ulterior purpose, as part of the taming process. Not that it isn’t delightful that way, I think. But sometimes I miss the sweet submission of a servus who just happens to catch my eye when the mood strikes me, ready to hand and meekly happy to serve, like plucking a flower to tuck behind my ear for a day. This is a little like that, except for the need to manipulate, and that adds some spice.

It’s only one o’clock, and Erin can sleep in tomorrow, Sunday; we’re going to a concert tomorrow night. Only a week more in New York, in any case; I have to firm up some details of the IPO with the financiers… my teeth click together and I give a happy hunting growl. I intend to firm up a little more than that with Jennifer Feinberg. Good to have an insider in Primary Belway Securities, and she’s interesting, intelligent, as intelligent any human I’ve ever met in a sharp nervy way; breaking her to my will be a treat – and call for delicate management, being partly long-distance. More psychological manipulation into a dependency relationship, they’d call it here. Well worth the effort, when I’m finished. And… hmm. Right bone structure. If I need a new brooder in a few years…

“Oh, wow,” Erin says, and gives me a quavering smile in the mirror over the basin where she’s washing her hands. “God, seeing you from the outside, in action like that, God, how can anyone mistake you for an ordinary human being?”

I come up behind her and embrace her, resting my chin on her head and laughing at our paired reflections in the mirror. “Well, you know me, sweetlin’.” I sigh and rock her a little. “You know, when I’ve gotten the hooks into their hindbrains and short-circuited the wiring, the men you call ‘gay’ seem to serve pleasure rather better than the others… odd. I wonder why?”

“Ummm… are we going back to the hotel now?” 

I can feel her quiver, her body and her voice, yearning. “Soon, soon, sweet one,” I soothe her. “First we’re going to pick up a little take-out dessert.”

She chuckles at that as I kick the wedge loose; not nearly as apprehensive about the unusual as she used to be. We go down a long corridor and back out into the club. My eyes track through the darkened, red-lit air, following a scent of unsatisfied yearning. “There, that table there.”

A woman is sitting there, brooding over a drink with two empty glasses beside it. She has a cigarette; I frown a little, but her health really isn’t my concern – yet, and probably never. The face is strong-boned, olive, full-lipped, a Mediterranean cast of features. Her black hair is cut fairly close, parted to one side; the nails of her hands are unpainted and clipped short; the hands themselves are beautiful, perhaps her best feature, strong and clean-lined. Although the big body is well-kept too; I can see muscle move in her forearm when one sleeve falls back – a leather bracer on that wrist as well. She is dressed in dark slacks and laced shoes, with a white shirt and an embroidered waistcoat with leather panels at the sides. I cock my ears forward and use a mental trick the Scholarium of War taught me to filter the background wash and catch the mumble of subvocalization:

Josie swore, swore she’d meet me… fluff headed so-called actress… tells me she loves me and then forgets after she talks me into coming here for the goddamned dancing then stands me up… doesn’t understand a thing about my work… Christ I wish I never met her, bitch, oh god I wish she was here…

“Ah… Muhmis… that’s a stone butch,” Erin says, a little nervous. God, what would happen if someone turned her down?

“I could live with it,” I say dryly. “Tahoe was unavoidable, but no more scenes. And remember what I said about relative positions. Compared to me, she’s a cute little bunny with a twitching pink nose, begging to be picked up and cuddled.”

**  
I’m stunned by what happens in the BackRoom. I thought I’d seen everything, but nope. Haven’t. And as inventive as my 400+ year old boss is, I’m sure there’s more to see than what she did with those two men. They’re as stunned as I am. It’s kind of funny, I think. Here they were, having mental wet dreams about taking a woman, such wild behavior for them, and she’s turned the tables completely. Boy, has she.

When she pinned George to the floor with a foot, and then commanded his boyfriend to strip and serve her, I think they both about fainted. Or came. Or both. Been there, done that. The combinations thereafter were quite…interesting. Even I had to admit to that, and I’m still not a big sex-with-men fan. But watching the interactions, feeling the power, the rut, was impressive. Even more so for me, since I know more about Gwen that they did, or ever will.

Gwen takes me by the hand and leads me from the dark room. Sounds of flesh on flesh echo in the gloom, and the room reverberates with the bass beat from the dance floors. I can’t see much in the darkness and something tells me that I might be in for more shocks if I could see better. My Muhmis guides me through the room’s trails, and we leave George and Eric, drained in more than one sense of the word, on the floor behind us. Boy, if they remember this night, they’ll certainly be confused.

In the restroom, Gwen wedges the door shut, and strips down to skin. Her body glistens in the lights, muscles well-defined and tan glowing. I kneel to her, and begin to clean her. I’ve grown used to this ritual, as I have to others. It’s a pleasure to touch her, stroke her skin, especially since all I could do in the other place was watch. My body aches for her touch, and she knows it. She strokes her hand through my hair, and I look up at her. I finish, reluctantly.

“That was… educational, Muhmis,” I say, standing and handing her fresh undergarments. “You really meant a walk on the wild side, didn’t you?” Gwen nods, with a smile half satiation and half hunger. “Ah… isn’t it a little bit dangerous to be so… frank with people?”

Gwen laughs, and begins to dress again. “Not at all, as long as I don’t do it all the time or in the wrong places. Humans edit what their senses take in to fit their preconceptions – well, every sentient we’ve met or created does that, but humans do it more. By tomorrow, this will be a blur for poor George and Eric; the conversational parts of it, at least. And if they did talk, who would listen? That’s the beauty of an incredible story; it’s not credible. And New York has plenty of crazies, so it’ll get garbled down to the general noise level of alien abductions, if someone did talk. Alien seductress in a gay bar in SoHo?” 

She does a credible imitation of the local accent: “Puh¬leeez. Someone who really knew would be an entirely different matter, of course. They might get listened to in the wrong places. There.”

“Oh, wow,” I say, my smile quavering in the mirror over the basin where I’m washing my hands. “God, seeing you from the outside, in action like that, I mean, God, how can anyone mistake you for an ordinary human being?”

Muhmis comes up behind me and embraces me, resting her chin on my head and laughing at our paired reflections in the mirror. “Well, you know me, sweetlin’.” Gwen sighs and rocks me a little. “You know, when I’ve gotten the hooks into their hindbrains and short-circuited the wiring, the men you call ‘gay’ seem to serve pleasure rather better than the others… odd. I wonder why?”

“Ummm… are we going back to the hotel now?” I manage, body on fire, yearning. 

“Soon, soon, sweet one,” Muhmis soothes. “First we’re going to pick up a little take-out dessert.”

I chuckle at that as Gwen kicks the wedge loose from the door. I guess things are changing; I’m not nearly as apprehensive about the… unusual …as I used to be. We go down a long corridor and back out into the club. Gwen looks around, slowly, and then points us toward a woman, sitting by herself. “There, that table there.”

Um…Gwen… “That’s a stone butch, Gwen…” I say to my Draka mistress, as she eyes the woman. The posture, the dress, the look—all tell me this woman’s a serious butch, no fluff at all about her. There’s a hardness, an edge to her look. If I had been here with Peter, I would have been quite intimidated by her, but certainly interested. Too shy, certainly, to go up and ask her for a dance. But with Gwen at my side, things seem different. Really different. I wonder what would happen if someone turned Gwen down, I wonder to myself.

Gwen laughs and assures me she’d get over it if that ever happened. We advance on the unknowing take-out dessert, and I prepare for more unusual experiences. If Gwen doesn’t take me soon, I may just explode, or implode, or spontaneously combust. She’s got to know, too—she’s driving me batty with all the pheromones. I’d do anything she wanted, here, anywhere…she knows that, too... Her eyes catch mine, and her hand strokes down the side of my face. “Soon, I’ll take you up on those thoughts, my pet. My sweetlin’…”


	15. Chapter Fifteen

Chapter 15

The elevator operator is an elderly male this time; I can hear him subvocalizing disapproval, but he accepts his tip. Odd that a sexual preference has the same name here as an engineering structure for preventing flooding…

We walk down the corridor; Devla is walking a little unsteadily, and I put a hand under her arm. She sinks into the contact with a little subliminal groan, then straightens up, and I release her… for now. Nice arm, I think; smooth swell of bicep. She’s a sculptor, and in my judgment probably a good one. I’ll have to look up her work.

what the hell am I doing here… not my scene… richbitch, damn but she’s fascinating, really knows classical sculpture, gorgeous too but not my style, her girlfriend’s more my type and I don’t do threesomes, what the hell am I doing here shouldn’t have had that last drink god-damn Josie.. she subvocalizes, a continuous almost-babble. I smile as I watch the blood flow in her neck and face, the patterns of heat from her body.

Room service is waiting by the door, a silver trolley with champagne – Roederet Cristal, which Devla recognizes; she may be living in a garret, but she’s met those who aren’t. Canapés as well, and I eat a few as Erin swipes her card through the lock.

My serf waggles her eyebrows at me, and subvocalizes, deliberately: I can tell that by the volume and cadence, as well as the words. you were right and I was wrong, and you get to sing the I Was Right Song…

“You weren’t kidding, Gwen,” Devla says as she flops down on the leather-covered sofa, taking in the view across the roofs and the period-piece elegance of the Waldorf-Astoria’s Presidential Suite. “Hey, you are some sort of businesswoman. Hell, with that fantasy you were stringing me about time travelers and such, I thought you were a writer. Not that it wasn’t well-worked-out and all that, made me laugh and I needed a laugh…”

I pop the champagne cork between my thumbs, and hand Erin her soda. “Never,” I say. “Although I paint – strictly amateur and strictly representational,” I reply, handing Devla her glass.

“And say, Erin’s really pregnant,” the sculptor says. Her voice isn’t slurred, although I think she might be a little more tactful in the way she peers at Erin’s sweater if she hadn’t been drinking. Her heart is racing, blood like a flag beneath her skin; the olive surface is sheened with a light coat of moisture now, and I inhale the salty odor with my lips parted. It adds to the driving feeling of need that makes it an effort to sit still, to let my limbs sprawl relaxed. Soon, I tell myself.

She’s trying to distract herself, I think, and make a final adjustment. The pheromones swell to maximum as we sit and chat about art and sip our champagne; they’re even affecting me, and Erin has to sit down with a bit of a thump.

Frisky, frisky ain’t the word, she subvocalizes. pleasepleasepleasenownownow…

“Well,” I say after finishing off a shrimp canapé. “This is very pleasant, but what do you say we go into the bedroom and make out like mad mink for a couple of hours?”

Devla’s eyes go wide, and she makes an inarticulate sound. After a moment she gives up trying to speak and nods. With Erin under my right arm and Devla my left, we walk into the bedroom. Erin moves quickly after catching and folding the clothes I toss aside, turning down the covers on the big four-poster and then stripping, dropping to her knees with a bright-eyed, slightly apprehensive smile.

interestin’ times, girl, interestin’ times, I hear her under-whisper. looong way from savannah, yessireebob.

“Your will, Muhmis,” she says breathlessly.

The sculptor’s breath catches and she goggles slightly. “Hey, ah, you two, you’re really into this role-playing thing you’ve got going,” she says.

“Maybe,” I growl, and grab her from behind, a hand on each shoulder. She tries to pull away, and makes a sound as she finds herself held as immobile as if she was caught in a steel clamp. “And maybe, just maybe, maybe it’s true.” I pull her closer and run my lips down her carotid, feeling the pulse racing. “So maybe I’ll have to kill you… or maybe I’m counting on the fact that nobody, but nobody would listen to a not-very-successful gay sculptor from the Tribeca with a wild story, just prescribe some Prozac… after a very strenuous night you might want that, of course…”

I let her go and then catch her again as she whirls, gripping her upper arms.

“I don’t think this is… is funny!” she says. It comes out in a shaken rattle, and she clamps my leg between hers when I slide a knee forward.

“That’s a pity,” I say, grinning like a wolf. “I find it excruciatingly funny. It’s going to get even funnier. Tell me,” I say, leaning forward and bringing our eyes close. Her pupils have gone very wide, swallowing the amber-brown iris. “You’re used to being in control in situations like this, aren’t you?”

Swallowing, she nods; she’s shaking, the combination of fear and desire stressing her system to its limits. But she won’t faint, not just yet, if I’ve learned to judge human reactions.

“Well, you’re not, here and now. I am in control of everything here. So –”

I put my hands on either side of her head and kiss her, thrusting my tongue between her lips, into her mouth. She moves against me, whimpering a little, her eyes shocked, hands on my shoulders gripping with increasing tension.

“And maybe,” I whisper close to her face, “you’ll never be quite sure; maybe it’ll all seem like a dream tomorrow, after breakfast and some civilized chat, and maybe I’ll come and visit you and buy a sculpture, or maybe I won’t… and you’ll never, ever be quite certain until it’s far too late…”

“Oh, Jesus,” she gasps.

I bend her back, nibbling along her neck. Erin rises at my gesture and stands behind Devla. I grip her waistcoat and rip it loose with a quick sideways motion; then the shirt rips, buttons popping, and I bite through the central strap of her bra.

Erin begins to knead her shoulders as I explore, whispering in her ear through my growls and Devla’s shocked, sharp moans of delight. “It’s all right… come on, yeah… don’t worry, she’s not really going to hurt you… there, there, yeah, I know it’s a bit surprising but… yeah, that’s right, just feel it…”

The last of the clothes part like tissue under my fingers, and I bend, gripping Devla around the thighs. “Up we go,” I say, and she tries to grip me with arms and legs, moaning again as I raise her, crying out incoherently as my mouth traces its way down her torso. Then she gives one short hoarse scream as I reverse my grip and she finds herself dangling head-down, held under the hips with my arms crossed on her stomach and hands busy.

“Hey, kiddo,” Erin croons, kneeling again. She gathers the sculptor’s head against her breasts, looking down at her and smiling, kissing her gently, running hands through her hair, caressing. “Hey, girl, just remember to keep breathing, OK? You’ll faint if you don’t, but this can feel really great. I know. And something more conventional comes next.”

I smile down at her and gently bite one inner thigh, another, then begin.  
**

A hand caresses me from sleep. It’s barely light out; I’m curled up on the couch in front of the window, a comforter wrapped around me. Gwen’s crouched next to me, her naked body limned in the light from the windows. “Sweetlin’?”

“Muh—” a huge yawn, “Muhmis?” I rub sleep from my eyes, and start to sit up. She sits me up by sliding an arm underneath me. She slips onto the couch next to me, and cuddles me to her side.

“Why are you out here? I got up to relieve myself, and you weren’t in bed. I’ve sent Devla off, after a bit of…breakfast…but you slept through all that. Too much, last night?”

“Nnnoo…” I nuzzle against her, my head fitting in the curve of her shoulder and neck quite comfortably. “I just…needed some space. I knew you were asleep; your breathing was so steady…so I snuck out here. Devla was really out of it, too. I think she was in shock…” I grin up at Gwen, remembering the events of last night and early this morning.

“Yes…interesting wench, though. Fun mount. If she’s still around after the Project, I’m sure I’ll have to acquire her. Hmmm…I think Tamarindus would enjoy her, too…”

“Who or what is a tamarindus?”

“Tamarindus Rohm, a friend of mine. Head of the Technical Directorate…a Legate. You’ll be meeting her soon. Soon enough. And she’ll enjoy you, too, kitten…” 

“You’d give me to her? I mean, like this?” My voice is shocked; inwardly, I’m recoiling from the thought.

“Just for a night or two—you belong to me. But it will be quite the enjoyable experience, believe me. You’ll enjoy it…she will, I’m sure…”Gwen plants a kiss on my forehead, and her hands reach into the comforter, to me. “She’ll enjoy this…”

“Oh, Gwen…”

“…and this…”

“Muhmis…”

“Possibly even this….”

“Ahhh---nnnhhhh….”

After breakfast…I’m carted back off to bed by Gwen. “Sleep for a bit, Erin. You need the rest. We were energetic, to say the least, over the last few hours. Catch up on your rest. I’ve work to do. I’ll get you up in a few hours. Good night,” Muhmis whispers to me, smoothing the sheets over me. I yawn, and smile. The pillows feel like islands of cloud, and I float off…the dream comes. It’s one of those dreams, the ones I need to remember.

We’re in front of the UN building. Overhead, the triangular, flat black matte shape seems to float. It’s huge, the size of a city block, at least. There’s a group of people surrounding me. I realize I’m kneeling on the ground, next to Gwen, who’s wearing her walking blacks, that’s what she calls them…but these are slightly different from the ones she has now. These new black clothes seem to move and shift impossibly on her, bulging. They shimmer more, in the sunlight.

Her hand absently strokes my head, and with horrifying clarity I hear her talking to someone else in the language she calls Talk, the 25th c. version of Draka English. But I can understand it, and itch to know why I can…the words aren’t meant for me, and in the superior-to-slightly inferior mode. She’s speaking to another Draka, then, I think. How do I know this? When did I learn it?

“…we’ll have to do some more fireworks to impress the natives, but let’s not get carried away, Strategos Glynnson. Nothing excessive. Strike at a military installation. If we target these cattle, these civilians, they’ll merely panic and stampede…” Her voice trails off into a savage laugh, and the man standing next to her, also clad in an unnervingly mobile black suit, joins her. They sound to me like wolves calling in the night, and I’m terrified.

Oh, no, it is one of those dreams…the ones that always happen. They’ve haunted me all my life; I know these dreams when they come calling. I can hear and remember conversations, word for word, and a few days, weeks or months later, the dream is reality. I hate them, these dreams of truth, these nightmares. I struggle to wake up, knowing it’s useless. I’ll continue to the end of the dream, aware that I’m in it, and unable to get out.

I notice, looking around me, that no humans are standing. They’re all on their knees, looking up at the ships floating above them like hawks circling thermals, looking down at rabbits below. I’m shocked to see that one of the men kneeling near me is the President; his staff, I assume, is arrayed behind him. His face’s gray, lined with sleeplessness, horror… tears trickle slowly down his long face. Other heads of state that I recognize from the evening news are kneeling nearby, the same expressions painted on their features. Near the president, an Air Force general stirs, glaring about her with fear and a terrible anger. She suddenly lunges to her feet, racing toward the two Draka near me.

In her hand, a ceremonial dagger glitters, light cascading off the blade. Her face, under the cap with the scrambled eggs of a staff officer, is twisted into a savage grimace, and she screams as she runs. “Goddamn you, you …you things…it’s not gonna happen, no way, not on my watch…” The two drakensis turn slightly toward her, seemingly bored.

“They don’t learn very well, Planetary Archon Ingolfsson…may I?” The man, Strategos Glynnson, I remember, smiles, and bobs his head toward the charging figure. Gwen shrugs, apparently communicating with someone via her transducer. He grins, a predator’s toothy snarl, and makes a spare gesture with a black-clad hand. To my horror, I recognize what lumbers up. It’s one of the creatures Gwen told me are called ghouloons; she’s painted one in her gallery down on Andros, my mind registers.

The creature, clad in a suit similar to those worn by its masters, howls as it approaches the woman, who stops dead in her tracks, dagger wavering. The ghouloon trooper’s jaws hinge open, and fangs appear; it drools somewhat, and then speaks, its golden eyes seeking those of the Strategos. “Muhmas, muhmas. Me eat? Yes? Hungry. Hungry, Muhmas. Please?” Its voice grates, sounding inhuman and guttural. The Draka nods, amused, and watches as the creature springs immediately toward the Air Force general.

“Noooo---get away, damn yo-” her scream is cut off as the ghouloon’s teeth sink into her face, crushing bone and flesh with a sound like celery snapping. “Guuaaahhh—aaaiiiieeee…” Her voice trills into agony, her body twitching and jerking spasmodically as she’s lifted off her feet. The snarls of the ghouloon add a basso counterpoint to the shrieks, and I hear the Strategos chuckle.

Blood spatters everywhere, even onto me, running down my left cheek. It joins the trickle from my bitten-though lip, and I quiver, on the verge of vomiting. I suppress the urge, savagely, and force myself to watch. This is the Domination, I think, numbly, as the woman is silenced forever, her body torn into several bloody chunks by the ghouloon. He picks up a thigh and strips the uniform leg off it, sinking his teeth lustily into the flesh, ripping, gnawing…

The humans kneeling nearby are wailing, keening, screaming…the hysteria seems to be contagious, and I see it sweep across the other humans, in lines behind us. I look up at Gwen, my Muhmis, in horror, terror. Her hand pauses on my head, and she frowns. “That’s what I meant about excessive, Strategos. Now they’re ready to trample each other…” She calls over to another Draka. “Hannah, raise the controller level up to maximum. I want these trophy humans alive, for when Alexis and the Council arrive.”

Gwen looks down to me, and smiles, reassuring. It does reassure me, which is just as horrifying as the scene that’s just unfolded in my dream, before my eyes. “Erin, sorry. Bit excited. The others will be all right, for the moment. Wipe your face off, wench. It’s all right,” she continues, cupping my chin in a tanned hand. I shiver, nodding slightly. My hand passes over my face and comes away crimson. My blood and the blood of the general. I wonder who she was. I gaze at my hand, and a scream forces its way past my frozen throat, bursting into the light---

“NOOOO! NO! NO! STOP!” I bolt upright in the bed, sweat-drenched, terrified. Gwen dashes into the room, laptop in hand, growling, looking for a target. Her eyes dilate back to normal when she sees it’s just me screaming at a figment of my mind, and she puts the computer down on a table. Coming over to me, she touches my shoulder, and I cringe. The dream’s still too strong…I remember too much. And I know it’s going to happen…that’s the worst.

“Erin, calm. Calm down. It’s all right,” Gwen says, sitting on the bed with me. Her words echo the ones in the dream and I gasp, beginning to cry. She clucks softly as the tears roll down my face, and strokes one away with a finger. “Erin, Erin…it was a dream, a nightmare. Wake up, now. It’s okay. I’m here.”

I lay back on the pillow, my hair plastered to my forehead, my neck. Goosebumps march down my skin, and I shiver uncontrollably, the sobs still coming, despite my efforts to control them. Gwen reaches over, grasping my shoulder, and pulls me to her. Her eyes are concerned, and she’s frowning. I feel her begin to caress my back, and shudder as her pheromones begin to work on me. Calming me, despite myself, despite the fear that runs riot through me…I have no choice in the matter. Of course not, says the voice in my head. You made your choice, now try to live with it. The thought smacks me mentally in the face, and I begin to really cry, broken-heartedly, leaning into Gwen, shaking us both with the force of my grief.

Muhmis’ grip tightens, and she rocks me in silence, waiting for the storm to break, to move on. It seems like years, but I finally feel my sobs slow, my breath coming in ragged gasps and hiccups. Gwen lets go of me, and returns in a moment with some tissues. “Here, I think you need these. Blow,” she murmurs, putting an arm around me again. I take the tissue and snort, clearing my nose…I’m not one of those quiet criers, those people in the movies who never get red and stuffy, I think, and wipe my face. I lean against my mistress, my boss, my lover, my owner…the world seems to have tilted on its axis and I feel lost.

“What was all that about, sweetlin’? The dream? Want to talk about it? You’re still frightened, I can smell it. That bad? Hmm?” Gwen’s voice is comforting, soothing. She squeezes me, a little, and waits.

“Y-y-y-yes…bad dream. Sorry. I rarely have them.” Sniff. “Didn’t mean to startle you, Muhmis. I’m sorry.”

“Nothing to be sorry for. I had no idea why you were screaming; didn’t hear or smell anyone else in here, but you sounded pretty terrified. Are you feeling better now, sweet?”

“Yes. Thanks. I think I should go take a shower. Do you mind, Muhmis?” I look up at her, appealingly, hoping for some privacy, some time to think, to process the dream. My hand protectively goes to my stomach, stroking. I have to remember to think for two now, I think. Her eyes follow my hand, and then go back to my face.

“Hmm…all right. I’ll check on you in a few minutes. Perhaps a shower will help you calm down. Getting that upset is really not very good for you, or the boy you’re carrying. Go jump in the shower, Erin, and I’ll give you a few moments to yourself. Okay?”

I nod, and climb shakily to my feet. The water feels good on my face, and I focus on the sensual touches. It’s only a dream, girl, I think, over and over. Now just pull yourself together. You have to; you have to think for two now. Or three, if you count Peter. Get over it. Too weird a night last night, not much sleep…pregnant women often have nightmares, too. I just read about that the other day. You’re all right. It’s okay. You gotta carry on. I begin to soap myself up, hands moving automatically. 

A few minutes later, Gwen enters the bathroom. She leans her head into the shower stall, and is surprised to find me sitting on the floor, under the water, eyes closed. “What are you doing? You’ll meditate yourself into a prune, child. Up, now, and out. It’s almost time for the concert. Come on,” she says, her hand reaching for mine. I open my eyes and look at her. Something yowls inside me, and reaches out in my stare.

She stops reaching for me, eyes widening a bit. “Erin?”

The force of the primal rage that just swept through me has left me breathless. I drop my eyes to the floor of the shower, and nod. I’ve just made a huge mistake, and the rage drains away, leaving dread behind.

“Come on out. Now.”

Her voice’s cool, commanding. I obey instantly, climbing to my feet and out of the stall. She hands me a towel, and points to the commode. “Sit.”

I perch on the lid, and wait. I should have been in control, I should never have looked at her that way, oh god, what have I done…my mind wails. Shit. I know to be careful around her; that was just stupid. But it surprised her, too, as much as it surprised me, kind of like having a kitten suddenly grow saber-toothed tiger fangs. “Sorry, Gwen. I think that dream just—”

“Made a smart girl do something extremely foolish?”

“Yes, Muhmis. Forgive me.” I’m trembling inside, more at the tone of her voice than what she said. My hands twist the cotton towel miserably, and I fidget.

“It’s not wise to look at me like that, or to look at any Draka like that. It’s stupid. And I’m surprised at you. You’ve been doing so well. Or have I been overly optimistic about you, Erin?”

“No, no, please, please try to understand. I hate those damn things…and I’m upset.” I look up into her stern face, and her eyes send chills down my spine. “Not excuses, Muhmis, I know there isn’t one…but they are reasons. You’ve said it yourself, we humans are complex. Sometimes we don’t even know why we do things…please, please don’t be annoyed with me. Please?”

My lower lip trembles, and my arms cross in front of me in a reflexive defense. Gwen looks at me a moment more, and my heart begins to sink. Not another session…I thought the last one was really the last. I sure as hell don’t want a repeat…

“Ah, wench…” A sigh. “You’re right. I’ll admit that. You are odd little creatures, you humans. But I’ll only warn you this once, Erin.” Her voice is cold and clear, not to be trifled with. “Next time you look at me like that, the spankings you’ve received will be absolutely nothing compared with what I’ll do to you. I won’t tolerate insolence. Is that very, very clear? Do you understand me?”

“Yes, Muhmis.”

She reaches over and moves a piece of hair from my forehead. “Now, let’s try this all over again. You need to dry yourself, and dress, so we can go to the concert. Good enough?”


	16. Chapter Sixteen

Chapter 16

I sip the pina colada and smile at Erin and Peter. We’re sitting by the private pool, under an awning; Tom and Alice are playing in the water. She’s floating on her back, and Tom’s towing her, feet hooked under her armpits, doing the backstroke. They’re laughing as the water splashes white, and the sun is bright on tile, marble, flowers. Alice’s stomach is a round pale-tanned moon now; Erin looks almost as spherical. Ruthann is watching them, sitting on the edge of the pool where the acanthus-flower inlays are blue and green against the white marble, clutching a big plastic ball, looking tired and happy; until a few moments ago we were all having a game of water polo, suitably adjusted for capacity. Unlike the rest of us, she’s wearing a bathing suit, although she’s filled out very nicely, and her skin has cleared up to a fine olive tan – some Amerindian or Hispano there, I think. 

I’m not going to take her until she’s ready, though; Alice and I discussed that. We’re breaking the… unusual nature of the Household to her gradually. So far she’s accepted everything in her stride; in fact, she’s been more flexible than any other human I’ve revealed myself to. The conversation where I told her was quite startling; she’d already guessed a good deal, about me and the nature of the relationships here.

Of course, I think, aliens were an article of faith where she was raised, mutilating cows and doing anal probes on humans.. Her education is appallingly spotty – ordinary field-serfs on the Prime Line look like professors compared to her – but there’s a good mind there, and she’s even learning to enjoy using it somewhat. And she’s identifying emotionally very well indeed. Natural enough, considering where I got her.

Tom and Alice come up, dripping; I watch carefully as he helps her out of the buoying water, but there’s no danger of a slip. I put an ear to Alice’s wet swollen belly, cool with the droplets, and listen to Alexandra’s tiny heart beating strongly. My brooder laughs and strokes my hair as I do. Her scent is nostalgic, a little like Marya’s as I remember from my earliest days. Not quite, the process has been refined since then, but heartwarmingly alike.

“Can’t wait to meet my little cuckoo,” Alice says.

“About five weeks to go,” I say. “Perhaps a little less. Erin should be very close. Run along now and take your nap, Alice, and don’t forget the supplements.”

“I’ll tuck her in,” Tom says tenderly; he’s grown quite fond of her. Yes, I’ll breed them too, I think. A little unorthodox; it’s not usual for a servus chosen to brood to have children of her own, generally the next generation of brooders is taken from their sibling’s offspring. Alice is an only child, though, and the situation is unusual all over.

“Yes, Muhmis,” she sighs. Subvocally: Isn’t half protective, is she?

“Get used to it,” I laugh. “You’re very important to me. Ruthann, why don’t you go along and help Alice?”

She bobs happily enough. “Muhmis,” she says, and picks up towels and flip flops and robes, helping Alice into one. “I’ll get the supplement for you, Alice.”

“Thanks, sport,” she says. “See y’all at dinner.” 

“Must have picked that up from you,” I say to Erin. Seven months and a bit, now, I think, and lean over to put a hand on her belly; seven months four weeks since I seeded Alice with my clone-egg, seven months two since that evening I enjoyed Peter and Erin together with this as a side-effect. 

After a moment, there’s a distinct thump under my palm. “Active, isn’t he?” I say, and Erin and I share a smile.

“Feels like he’s trying to kick his way out, sometimes,” she says, wiggling a little on the recliner. 

She’s a bit uncomfortable now, with the weight, and her breasts are tender; her scent has altered intriguingly in the last month, and she’s grown calmer as she focuses on what’s happening within. I’m glad we Draka have brooders to handle this for us! Very pleasant to look at, though, in a rounded, fecund sort of way; part of my herd, fertile and productive. Good genes; in say, three years, I’ll breed her again. To Tom, perhaps? It’s something to think of. The next child will be servus, of course – all children here will be, except the drakensis ones. That’ll still leave much of Erin’s genome intact. She’s actually not far from the upper permissible curve of the servus personality type, when you take the different upbringing into account, a natural submissive to a degree… although only to a degree. The modifications involve only a small fraction of a percent of the overall genome, mostly in the hormonal and endocrine systems, but the effect is substantial.

“Not long now,” I say. “I’ve brushed up on my obstetrics. Should be pretty straightforward, no anomalies.” Which is fortunate; the brushing-up has reminded me of how much can go wrong with human birthing. Natural evolution is a hit-or-miss process, often resulting in the least bad solution rather than the optimum one. Servus give birth easily, whether their own young or ours.

“I’ve been thinking,” I go on, “of how to handle the transition here, once the Project is up.” Which shouldn’t be long; another month, maybe, if nothing more goes wrong. “More and more, I’m inclining to Erin’s idea that the process should be as gradual as possible – we took a hundred and fifty years to terraform Mars, four hundred for Venus; no reason we shouldn’t be patient here, too.”

Erin looks at me with gratitude; Peter’s a little more reserved. “Gradual?” he says.

“Yes. First we’ll demonstrate to the human governments that they can’t resist us – a few directed-beam strikes on missile silos, that sort of thing. We’ll announce our presence to the world, and then start the modifications. I’ll keep the number of Draka and transgenes here limited; assuming I’m put in charge, and that’s pretty well inevitable – public opinion back on the Prime Line wouldn’t stand for anything else. But we’ll have to be careful.”

“We will, Muhmis?” Peter asks. There’s a sharp edge, far down in his tone.

“Yes, we will, Peter,” I say. “If we want to avoid a lot of unnecessary slaughter. And I do; not least, because of you and the other humans in my Household here. Do you doubt me?”

The last comes out cold and soft. Erin frowns at him, and Peter looks down quickly. “No,” he says quietly. “No, Muhmis.”

He doesn’t, either; he’s learned well enough not to try to lie to me, or even shade the truth… much.

“I will kill where necessary to subdue,” I say. “And I’ll certainly enjoy at least some of that. But I don’t want to kill here for the sake of killing; when I have that need, I can go hunt -- buddu-lions or feral ghouloons or goblins. They’re more of a challenge than you humans, anyway, physically. I prefer… more subtle methods with you. If possible.”

They nod, and shiver a little. Some of the paintings I’ve done for amusement here are rather graphic, the war and hunt scenes especially. Humans shock so easily, in that and other ways. Erin went quite pink at the sight of the one I’d done of her, and I thought it showed her in a charming pose.

“What we need is the appropriate symbology to instill fear but not blind panic,” I say. “Hmmm. And then there will be a mountain of details – which I don’t want to bring too many Draka through at once to handle. For one thing, they’ll be too unused to this environment, and might cause damage. I had to adjust; but arrogance is a fault of ours, I acknowledge… hmmm. For example, we’re going to need to oversee the demobilization of the human military forces. You might be useful there, Peter.”

“Me?” He’s startled. “I’m an ex-swabby!” 

“I know your abilities,” I say. “You’re a natural manager, and you can motivate your subordinates. Think about it. You’ve got your future to consider, and you’ll be far too valuable to leave in your present position when the Project’s finished. Both of you will be. You’re going to be important people, Erin, Peter – globally important.”

I smile at Erin, and cross over to her lounger. “You see,” I go on, “you’re quite rightly afraid of what’s going to happen when my people come through. But – and I’ve changed my outlook on it over the last couple of years – there are ways and ways to establish the Domination here. The end will be the same, but the means… ah, the means can of very different natures.”

I sit astride the foot of the lounger, and begin to caress her, slowly, gently. She closes her eyes and moves to it, sighing, smiling, touching me as she’s learned I like within the limits of what’s possible for her at this point in the pregnancy. Peter is watching; I’m conscious of his mixture of fascination and slight fear, and his response to the pheromones. He’s well-trained now though, and waits my command. After a while I’m kneeling between Erin’s outstretched legs as she grips the headrest behind her, taking her with the same slow fingertip care, watching her face. Her knees come up as she gasps and stiffens, then groans. Her eyes open, and she laughs breathlessly as I move up and straddle her. We had a bit of a setback in New York, but she’s made progress since then. So hard, for her, but she tries. I hope there won’t be any more relapses.

“Ready, pretty pony?” I say, stroking her lips with a thumb. “Ready for your saddle?”

She nods, smiling and wiggling her shoulders back into the padding of the lounger, pulling her hair up out of the way – it’s gotten longer recently – with a charming gesture of acceptance. I put a hand beneath her neck for the pony-mount, remembering how she laughed once when I told her that this was the Muhmis-wench equivalent of what they call the ‘missionary position’ in this timeline. 

Odd, I thought that was a fairly good comparison. Erin’s sense of humor…. Speech ends for a while. I run my other hand through her hair rhythmically as she serves me, looking down and purring as I hold her eyes, through to the end when my lips curl back and it turns into a growl. When I dismount, I lie beside her for a few moments, feeling the kick again, this time against my stomach. Awkward, as I said it would be, but not without its rewards.

“You see,” I say again to Peter when conscious thought is possible once more. “This is sort of a metaphor.” I cross to his couch, run my hands down his chest, feeling him shiver and his skin lump into what the humans call goose bumps. Then I straddle, mount and take him with a single swift, hard movement of my hips… and freeze. He’s whimpering, trying to move to me, but my hands on his shoulders and my hips and thighs on his hold him immobile.

I grin; Erin’s lying on her side, drowsy and smiling, watching, stroking her belly. “One sharp initial shock to let them know who’s in charge,” I say. “Then a very slow –” I suit my actions to my words –“ beginning to the transition. Domination doesn’t have to be a fight; it can be… a dance. Like this hip-dance we’re doing together, Peter. Are you listening to me, Peter?”

I smile down at his flushed face with affectionate cruelty. He stares back into my eyes, and I feel our gazes linked as our bodies are. Taking his self into mine, as I have his body. Not violently, but irresistibly.

“God, yes, anything you say,” he gasps.

I chuckle. “That’s it, that’s exactly it! And by the time things speed up –” the lounger begins to creak -- “they’ll be ready for it. Are you ready, Peter?”

He grasps at my arms, my shoulders, my flanks. I surge towards my pleasure, and he responds helplessly. “And by the time things come to a climax, and all the masks are off it’s a – mutual --”

He arches and cries out under me.

“—pleasure.” My snarling shout mingles with the human’s softer cry to make a harmony that gives an added edge to the enjoyment I feel.

Erin is laughing. “You know,” she says, after I kiss Peter and return to my own lounger; he shakes for a moment, then sighs and seems to slump, boneless. “You know, I had a class on, mmm, metaphor and simile once, but the teacher never used instructional methods like that!”

“Well, Draka pedagogy…” I say, and reach for the drink again. “Take some of yours, Peter,” I say. “You look like you need a stimulant.” His heart sinks towards a steadier pace. “Now, as I was mentioning, you – all the Inner Circle closest to me – are going to be very important. So I’ve come to a few decisions.”

They look up alertly at that. An intelligent serf does, when their owner uses those words and that tone. “First, you know the promise I made to Lather and Amier?”

They nod. A sudden suspicion makes Erin hold her breath again. “I’ve decided – and as Planetary Archon I’ll have the authority – to extend it to you. That is, you, Erin, Peter, Tom, Alice, and perhaps two or three others. It’s rare – it’s unprecedented – but then again, so is this situation. Very few of our subjects have ever aided the Race as you’ve done, and are doing. And I’ll need you throughout the transition phase here. Besides that, I’ve gotten attached to you; and what’s the point of power, if you can’t have what you want?”

“You mean –” Erin’s eyes have gone wide again, the pupils growing. Peter is speechless.

“I mean that when you get to the end of your natural spans – that’ll be a century or so, with modern medicine – I’ll have you… rewound to a physical state in your late teens. Another hundred, hundred and twenty years of life.”

They look at each other wide-eyed. Ah, humans, I think. It takes them so long to assimilate the really unfamiliar. It won’t be real to them for a little while; I smile indulgently and put up a hand to stop their babbling. 

“And I’m going to have you, and the others in the Inner Circle, fitted with transducers. Mine will… ah, clone, as you know.” Not exactly, but it is quasi-organic. “Only the basic data storage, but that will be very useful. You’ll be able to learn things – language, history, technology, customs – in a few months that would take years by ordinary means. That’ll be essential, since you’ll be working closely with me and with other Draka.”

I rise, stretch. “Let’s rinse down and take a quick dip,” I say. The sun is low, crimson and gold among the clouds to the west. “Nearly time for dinner.”

I sigh with contentment and stretch. Amid all the excitement of this… Great Hunt, I decide; it isn’t quite a war… there’s a homelike restfulness to such everyday domestic concerns as breeding and training and using my serfs.

**

The Bahamian sun feels amazingly good after the weeks I’ve had to spend in New York, helping to set up the networks for the Project. Gwen says it will all be “modernized”, as she puts it, once the Project is successful, and that Peter and I will learn about the Domination’s compinsets as soon as she has time to train us. That should be interesting.

Having this baby will be interesting, too. Alice and I are both about ready to just jump up and down, and get the whole thing over with. I’m waddling, now, like a duck, but that’s to be expected near the end of the 8th month. A big brown line’s developed down my stomach, which looks like a balloon. Peter, ever solicitous, has declared it my front zipper, to match the scar on my back. He calls that one my back zipper. I call him silly, but that’s okay. We do love each other; he’s my best friend.

After weeks spent inside, I revel in the warmth and brightness of Andros. This is the life, I think to myself, as I stretch out on a recliner by the freshwater pool. My laptop perches on a table next to me, and it’s set to beep if anyone needs me. I close my eyes, and focus on the past few days, weeks. A lot has changed for me, that’s for sure. The pregnancy, the fact that my boss is a superhuman time traveler with plans to take over the world…little things like that. I sigh, half unbelieving, at the changes I’ve been through.

This afternoon, I’m supposed to attend a staff meeting with the others—Alice, Tom, Peter, Vulk (I still dislike that man, that’s for sure), Singh, Mueller– and some of the Primary Belway Securities folks. They’re the Wall Street gurus who are doing the financing for the Project; it’s almost done, and the IPO went well. Tom did most of that; Gwen prefers using him as a front-person sometimes, when her presence isn’t absolutely necessary. She’s good at delegating. She’s also good at making sure you do the best job you possibly can, especially if you’re a staff member. A member of her Household; her personal serf. That’s been hard to adjust to; I keep thinking I’ve made peace with it only to run across another mental speed bump.

The PBS people are all New Yorkers. I heard them talking this morning at breakfast, and it was all I could do to keep from laughing out loud at their Yankee accents. I’m a good ole girl from outside Savannah; they sound like a bunch of chickens with head colds. Of course, to them, I probably sound like Scarlett O’Hara with a mouthful of grits. Oh, well. It’s just funny to hear them. The one who’s leading this team, Jennifer Feinberg, seems very sharp, very with-it. Dang cute, too. Gwen has mentioned introducing us soon; she’s planning on making Jennifer one of her own, from what she’s told me. I know she’s slept with the woman already. But then, Gwen’s libido is more than one or two people could keep up with.

Sighing again, I rub my tummy. Junior will be a great soccer player, that’s for sure. He’s doing the rumba right now. Thinking about Gwen’s libido makes me remember the fun working week we had in New York several months ago. Jeeze, that woman stuns me every time. Amazing. And she kept the collar and chain, too; obviously she enjoyed the effect it had on me. I know I did. Which amazes me even now! I grin to myself. It’s been…different. The work’s been hard, at times exhausting, but the rewards have been fantastic. Some of them more than others, really. It’s been several days, though, since Gwen has taken either me or Alice. Alice, poor dear, complained about it the other morning, and Gwen said it’s too close to be very…adventuresome.

The baby Alice’s carrying, Gwen’s clone-child, has altered the Australian’s moods somewhat. She seems to be smiling a lot more recently. Ruthann adores her, follows her around like a puppy, willing to help in whatever Alice needs. That skinny waif of a girl has certainly filled out; she still acts shell-shocked sometimes, but her mind’s curious, and very lively. She’s turning out to be kind of cute, too, now that she’s getting some meat on her bones. She’s been through hell, so this must seem like heaven.

Someone walks over to the pool, casting a shadow over me. I shade my eyes, thinking of the bright sun behind them, and peer to see who it is. Jennifer Feinberg looks down on me, eyes widening at my nudity. I forgot—being around Gwen so much, who has no nakedness taboo at all, I’ve gotten into the habit of waiting until my body dries off before getting dressed after a swim. And swimming’s about all I can do right now. I grin, and blush, covering up with the terry-cloth wrap from the arm of my chair. “Hi, Ms. Feinberg! Come on over and set a spell!”

“Ah… sure,” she replies, and sits down on a neighboring chaise lounge. “The pool is lovely, isn’t it? The whole house is great, actually.” Her wavy, dark brown hair is pulled back in a pretty French braid, and I’m sure Peter would know the designer name of her business dress. She tucks long legs under her, and looks over at me, now that I’m “decent”. 

“Yes, it is lovely here. Part of the reward for working so hard, I guess. Ready for the staff meeting?” As I say that, keeping my end of the conversation going, I’m thinking: It’s a lot like what the scenes, like videos, really, in Gwen’s file folder-thingy have shown me; the house here really isn’t like anything I’ve seen anywhere on this Earth. But Jennifer wouldn’t know about that, not yet.

I smile politely at the dark-haired woman next to me; I find myself being formal with her; part of my Southern heritage is bristling at this Noo Yawker. I try to remember that Gwen likes her, and likes for all of us to get along. I think I could like this chick, if she wasn’t so…I don’t know…

“Yes, of course I’m ready for the meeting. I wouldn’t be down here sightseeing if I wasn’t ready, now would I?”

…defensive. That’s it, that’s the ticket. I don’t know why she’s that way; we’re all right friendly enough down here, Dobermans, guards, serfs, wonder woman…

“I figured you probably were all ready, just asking. I think it’ll be more of a finalizing thing meeting than anything else, though. Speaking of, I better get dressed and amble on back up to the house.” I shrug into the wrap’s arms, tie the belt, and slowly manage to lever myself to my feet. It takes longer and longer, at this stage. Peter’s usually my grinning helpful human crane, but he’s in the computer center.

Jennifer watches me lurch to my feet, a slight amused smile on her face. “By the way, when is it due? You and your husband must be thrilled…”

“Um, I’m not married, Ms. Feinberg, but I am thrilled, and so are my friends. I’m due in about two weeks, I think. Two or three. Can’t be soon enough, as far as I’m concerned. It’s been fun, but now I feel like an aircraft carrier in a bathtub or something…” I laugh, and watch her blush. Mean of me, but I enjoy it.

“Oh…well…it’s certainly close then. What does your…boss…think of it? Will you be off work for long, do you think?” She walks slightly ahead of me up the stone-flagged path, towards the house. She looks back over her shoulder, waiting on an answer.

“urk.”

“What!? What?” Her voice raises in alarm, as she turns round to look me full in the face. “What’s wrong, Miz Kane?”

“Ow. Ah. I think…”I start to bend over. “I think…perhaps you should go get Gwen. Please. Hurry. Ow.” Oh, god, is this what I think? The cramps, that have been coming and going for the past day or so, have suddenly increased. Junior’s quiet now, from his earlier antics, and the shooting pains make me feel like I’m about to start hootin’ and hollerin’. A trickle of something runs down my leg, as I talk to Jennifer. I try to bend over to see and the floodgates open.

“Oh, my gawd…” Jennifer squeaks. “What…what...” Her hands go up to her face, her eyes widening.

“Ah do believe that’s mah watah breakin’, chile… ‘Oh, Miz Scahlett, Ah don’t know nuthin’ ‘bout birthin’ no babies…’” I trill, from Gone With the Wind. My legs are wet, my tummy hurts, and I’m getting kind of scared, actually. “Please, Miss Feinberg, go get someone from the Household…I need some help walking up there!”

“Oy, vey, gevalt! Please, just sit down here on this boulder, that’s right, just, ah, lean against it…I’ll be right back, okay? Okay?”

“Okey-dokey…” I close my eyes as the next wave of cramps hit. Man, this is happening too fast. Haven’t even finished knitting his little booties yet. Shawonda had fun teaching me how to knit a few days ago, and I’ve just started a pair… “Ow! Man! Ow!”

I hear the ocean, and the palms, and the ever-present seagulls; the salty smell of the surf washes over me, and I try to focus on that, not the pain. It’s like no other pain I’ve ever felt—I keep thinking each cramp can’t get worse, but each one does, and lasts a little longer. This isn’t much fun, I tell myself. I hear footsteps and raised voices, people running down the hill toward me.

“Sweetlin’, child…it’s all right now, I’m here…Tom, make sure the birthing room is ready, and get Peter. He should be there,” Gwen calls over her shoulder, as she smoothly picks me up in her arms. I don’t protest, as the next wave of hyper-bad-period-style cramps wrings through me. My arms tighten around her neck, and she murmurs to me, “Ssssaaa…my saafn, it’s all right. I’ll take care of everything…you’ll be fine, just fine. Be brave for just a few moments, and the pain’ll go away…”

I hear Jennifer jogging behind us, as Gwen leaps up the pathway, not jostling me at all in her tight grip. “Miz Ingolfsson, I’m so sorry—I should have helped her get up from the lounge, I didn’t know she was so close to…to…”

“Don’t worry, Jenny. It’ll be fine. This is a bit early for Erin, but she and her son are quite healthy, so I don’t think anything’s wrong. Just a little impatient, aren’t we, my sweet one?”

“Ur…nnnhhh…ow!”

The birthing room, with two couches Gwen had made up to her specifications, is pristine and ready; Shawonda’s there, gloves on, handing out masks to each and every soul within sight. “Everything’s ready, ma’am, as you ordered…poor thing,” Shawonda says to me, as Gwen gently, oh so gently, lays me down on one of the couches.

“Fine…fine. Get her on some pain medication; I think an epidural will be good at this point. Her contractions are very close together, and quite strong; I don’t think we’ll—”

I scream. The baby’s coming, pain medication or no. My back arches up off the couch, and things go red around me. All I want is relief, whether it’s the baby coming out or someone knocking me sharply on the head, either way’s fine with me…

“Ah, forget the shot…Erin, sit up. No, don’t arch, just sit up, hold the bars on the sides of the couch. Come on, now, do as I say,” says Gwen, one arm around my shoulders. My head whips back and forth; at this point in time, I don’t care if she’s Mahatma Gandhi reincarnated, I don’t care that she’s my owner…all I want is the baby to come out. 

“Hmm…” Gwen’s grip tightens, and she shifts my body on the bed, moving me to a sitting position. “Put her feet in the stirrups, Shawonda. Now. Erin, Erin, it’s easier this way—faster, too…come on, come on…listen to me. Listen to me, wench. Sit up.”

Her voice cuts through the red haze, and I obey. I’ve learned not to ignore that tone, or the volume. I sit up, sobbing, and grab for the handles I know are on either side of the bed. Shawonda and Gwen strip my wrap off, and spread my legs, my feet slipping into stirrups on the end of the couch. I can hear people in the background, but it’s just a hiss of noise. My world view’s contracted, all pun intended, to this tiny point, this moment in time.

I feel Gwen’s strong hands sliding up my thighs; in more ordinary circumstances, that would be a prelude to being rocketed into orbit after a few more moments. But this time, she’s exploring me to see where the baby’s at. I hear her gasp, just a bit, and then the next wave slips over me.

“Quickly, hand me a towel…the baby’s here…he’s already crowned. Push, Erin. Push! Now!”

“Ahhhhh!” I strain, pushing as hard as I can. I feel a hand over my forehead, and open my eyes to look into Peter’s white face. I try to grin, and get another command from Gwen: “Push!”

The world seems to spin, and all of a sudden, there’s a tremendous pain between my legs. I scream again, and from a great distance I hear a baby’s answering cry. There’s a thud behind me; when I open my eyes, Peter’s gone. I have no idea where he went. My attention’s directed with unwavering intensity on the cries of the baby. My baby. “Gwen…how is he? My baby…” The pain’s drifting away now.

“He’s a fine young man. Just fine. Pretty little human buck, perfect birth present for Alexandra…” She comes to my side, strokes my hair back. “It’s done; we’ll just clean you up a bit, get the afterbirth taken care of…I don’t think there was any tearing, but I’ll check. Shawonda, almost through cleaning him up?”

“Yes, ma’am. Seven pounds, six ounces…all his little fingers and toes; he’s beautiful, Erin, really beautiful.” Tears are in her big brown eyes as she hands me a towel-wrapped form; a tiny fist pokes out of it and waves as another cry arrows into my heart.

Holding him, looking into his scrunched up little face, I wonder where Peter is. “Shawonda, Gwen, where’s Peter? He was here, wasn’t he?”

“He’s behind you, on the floor, sweetlin’. Shawonda, Tom, see to him, please, dears. Let me finish you up, darlin’ and we’ll move you to a regular bed, more comfortable…” Gwen’s fingers cleanse me, but I’m so high on endorphins I don’t really notice. I’m too busy looking at this tiny bundle of humanity on my chest, caterwauling like a banshee…good lungs, that’s for sure. 

Tiny bundle of humanity, says the voice in the back of my head, right. Who’s already the possession of a Draka, who’s not even born yet… I tell myself to shut up, harshly. Gwen’s head snaps up, her eyes on mine. I blush, realizing she’s heard me subvocalize. I’ve trained myself to be careful about that; I’ve even stopped humming, since Gwen said it bugs her sometimes. I just don’t talk to myself vocally anymore. Her eyes, leaf-green, deep, hold mine in a predator’s direct stare.

“You’re not backsliding again, are you, Erin?” Her voice’s soft, but I hear the warning in it. I shake my head no, and look back down at the boy in my arms. My eyes fill with tears and my throat aches. Looking back to my Muhmis, I try to say something, but nothing comes out. Tears trickle down my red face and I sniffle.

“My sweet, my saafn…you were so brave, so strong…and what a beautiful baby you have.” Her tanned arms encircle me, and I feel a comforting wash of approval. She nuzzles against my cheek, and strokes the baby’s cheek, as well. He stops crying and gurgles, eyes opening wide, then grimacing in the bright light. “Not a tear on you, either, which is nice, considering youngster’s rather abrupt arrival…you’ll be fine, after some rest. You’ll have a couple of servants to help you, and things will be nice for you and your son. And I’m sure Peter, once awake, will feel the same way.”

I smile, tentatively, up at her, her aquiline face framed in mahogany red hair, backlit against the overhead lights of the birthing room. “I hope I didn’t make Miss Feinberg faint, too, Muhmis…”

“No, no, she’s firmly on both feet, in the observing room. See?” Gwen sits me up just a bit, and points toward the glass that runs the length of one wall. I see Jennifer next to Alice, who’s holding Ruthann. They all perk up at seeing me, and wave. Ruthann jumps up and down, hands clasped in front of her; Alice beams. Jennifer looks a bit pale, but smiles kindly at me. I lean against Gwen’s arm, suddenly feeling exhausted. “Tired, my butterfly? Time to get you tucked into bed, isn’t it? I think so,” Muhmis murmurs into my ear, and I sigh.

As I’m gently tucked into bed, and the baby’s settling down for his first ex-utero meal, which feels great, since my breasts have felt like balloons about to burst for the past month, Gwen leans down over me, her eyes holding mine. “You have to think for two, now, Erin. Remember that, and things will be wonderful. Right?” Her voice is soothing, but I know what she’s saying. I nod, sleepy, and she chuckles, softly, as she brushes my hair from my forehead. “Wonderful, indeed, my sweet. Good night…”


	17. Chapter Seventeen

Chapter 17

“Well, the meeting went well,” I say.

Jennifer nods, putting the final sheaf of papers away in her briefcase, looking cool and efficient in the dark-wood and lemon-plaster contrasts of the meeting room. She has been efficient, all through the IPO. She had a few doubts about IngolfTech back nine months ago, the first time she was down here, but she’s worked like a beaver with winter on its mind. I take her scent; a little apprehension…

“Very well,” she says, not looking up at me. “Frankly, the day’s delay didn’t hurt, with the speed we’ve been pushing things.” She pales a little at the memory. “Ms. Kane… it was all so fast.”

“And a good thing too,” I say, sitting with one haunch on the mahogany table. I’m in a pantsuit, charcoal-grey Italian light wool, and a silk blouse. “H- ” I stop myself just before saying human. “Delivery can be a lot more traumatic than that.”

Actually the whole experience was rather charming. I’m happy to have Erin back from immobilization, too. Although she did have that one little slip in the delivery room… No matter. She’s been excellent for months now. One must expect these things, with raw humans. 

Jennifer swallows a bit. “I didn’t know you’d had medical training,” she says, changing the subject slightly.

“Oh, I’m a woman of many skills,” I say, quoting from a vidshow Dolores is fond of.

She says I remind her of Xena, the unreformed version. Oddly enough, I can actually do many of the things the show fakes. The two main actors are certainly able, although the dramatic conventions are so different here. And comely. I’ve given Dolores a little vacation, off to see her parents. That’s safe enough now, and she’s anxious to reassure them that she’s all right, after the disappearance and the months before it was wise to let her communicate with them. That’s good cover as well; I know the American secret services are sniffing around every connection of mine, despite my little agreement with them. Only a little while longer…

“You’re no slouch as a businesswoman,” Jennifer says warmly. “Seven hundred million, and we could have split two-for-one on this offering, since the news about the superconductors leaked out, every utility company in the world is plotzing! The liquidity problem is now no problem. Even though… well, whatever it is you’re building at the New York facility is swallowing a lot of the capital we’re raising.”

I nod, smiling to myself. “But it’s up and running,” I say. An impulse tugs at me: “Among other things, it’s a fusion reactor.”

She stiffens, looks up at me, her brown eyes going wide. Her face has taken on a more sculpted look now that she’s been on metaboline for more than half a year; she dropped twenty-five pounds before she stabilized, and the metabolic jolt has made her exercise more, too. These humans need the stuff, it’s so hard for them to maintain a proper body mass; well, of course, they evolved in a setting where sugar and fats were rare, hard-to-get treats and enormous physical effort the price of survival.

“You’re kid –” she swallows. “You’re not kidding.”

I nod, and in answer to her subvocalization: “And no, there’s no danger. If the reactor containment fields were to fail instantly, which because of physics I won’t go into they can’t, then the reaction just stops. Fusion reactions are hard to keep going; they’re not like fission at all.”

The news stuns her enough that she doesn’t ask why I’m putting an experimental physics project in downtown New York. Actually, of course, it’s not experimental – the design is a copy of a First Century one, and the experimental part is the paratemporal signaler. That should work, if the theory I’ve cobbled together to explain how I got here is anything like right; and it’s based on Tolya’s work, and she is brilliant; I know my limitations -- I’m just thorough and intelligent. Alexis will be giving her an extra life, if I have to break his arms to get him to do it… no, to be fair, Alexis is a just enough person, if a little too self-consciously hard.

“It’s working out perfectly, too,” I go on. “Direct energetic-particle/electric power transition, no turbines necessary, 99.9987% efficiency, and capital costs about 7% of conventional energy sources.”

“My Gawd,” she whispers. I’m looking at what’s going to be the richest woman in the world, she thinks/murmurs to herself. “How do you do it…”

“You’ll find that I can do almost anything I set my mind to,” I say, grinning at her, and she flushes and drops her eyes. “Making money’s just one of them, a means to an end. Although I’ve come to enjoy that game.” I touch her once, very lightly, on the neck. “Among others.”

She blushes still more furiously, and casts a panic-stricken look around to make sure nobody’s watching. Jennifer has sworn to herself it’s an aberration and won’t ever, ever happen again every single time I’ve taken her. About ten times, so far, if you count a pleasant but hasty encounter in a New York office while we were working late one night; mostly on the desk and in a chair with Jennifer gibbering to herself in terror of someone walking in the whole time, even during orgasm –. 

I chuckle at the memory of her flushed damp face and the way she stuffed a hand into her mouth and squeaked around it, and fight not to laugh woundingly. This is fun, teasing at her this way, but I don’t want to hurt her. Lately she’s begun to suspect she’s falling in love with me, which is not precisely right, although fairly close to the emotional adjustments that are taking place. There’s a luxuriant feeling to this stage, sort of… a creamy taste, emotionally speaking. Humans are a little less sweet-textured than servus, but with an edge of cinnamon, to continue the metaphor.

“It’s a pity Erin couldn’t be here,” I go on. “But she’s kept her subordinates briefed carefully and she’s been careful to do full documentation. And she should be back up for light work very soon. No tissue damage at all, a very brief labor.” Almost as easy as a servus, I think. Good stock. If she’d been a little further along in her taming, I might have picked her to brood my clone.

“Yeah, she’s bright,” Jennifer says, with a grudging edge to her voice. “Under that shucks-ah’m-jest-a-country-gal exterior. It’s a pity her family couldn’t afford a good university.”

“I’m not overly concerned with paper credentials,” I say. “Ability and willingness to learn are more important. She’s a first-class professional.”

“I’m a bit surprised that you kept her working so hard right up to the end of her term,” Jennifer says. “You seem to… like her.”

“I do like her, very much,” I say. “She makes me laugh. And she’s a wonder in bed, too,” I continue, and smile to myself at the New Yorker’s attempt to suppress her galvanic jerk of shock. “But pregnancy isn’t an illness, Jenny.”

“Is there anyone here of either sex you’re not sleeping with?” she says – more sharply than I’d let pass, if she knew the truth. You have to make allowances, though, at this stage.

I let my face go cold and lean towards her, silent for a long minute. Fractional inch by fractional inch, she draws back, pupils expanding in shock, then glances aside. I can hear her heart leap, and a confused babble of subvocalization. Scary and so beautiful and why me, why me…

“Are you presuming to judge me, Jenny?” I say, slow and cold, just a hint of a snarl in the under harmonics. It’s a damped-down version of my natural reaction at impudence; another drakensis would bristle at it; for a human it’s pure fear. Gut-level, hindbrain-fear, the type that a lion calling in the night beyond the campfire would bring. I clamp down on the pheromone release; that would last too long.

“Ah…no, no, of course not, Gwen.” She looks away, fidgeting with her hair.

“Good,” I say, in the same soft tone. She’s learning, I think. Learning to fear and desire at the same time; it’s a potent combination. 

More normally I go on: “To answer your question, yes. Mueller, Singh, Ruthann, they’re too ugly and she’s too young… oh, dozens, hundreds actually. Let’s go, I’m hungry.”

Dinner is in the main house, in the smaller third-floor dining room. Erin is there – she can already walk if she doesn’t strain, but she’s in a wheelchair – and Peter, who keeps looking at her as if he can’t believe he’s a father and with her as the mother at that. Ruthann and Alice, too; she’s also in a wheelchair. Tom’s keeping the rest of the New Yorkers happy downstairs, a mill-and-swill I’m not in the mood for. Better to keep Gwendolyn Ingolfsson a figure of mystery a bit longer… 

Only a month! sings through me. I force realism: only a month until the first full-power test. If it works, then the gods alone know how long until a lock-on, if ever. I know Tamirindus and Tolya and their teams will be working on this full-time; and I’m as certain as stochastic analysis can be that they’ll have built receptors for exactly the sort of quantum event-wave modulated fluctuations I’ll be sending… sort of a twanging at the fabric of the multiverse that must exist because the parallel universes do…

It’s the obvious thing for me to do, if I survived the transit and landed somewhere that equipment could be found or made. The tension is so great that for once I feel a faint hint of the human dichotomy, knowing something to be true and yet not feeling certain of it. My mind recoils at the sensation, and normality clicks back. How do humans endure feeling like that so strongly, and most of the time? No wonder they go mad so easily.

There’s enough room for six around this table, although more would be crowding. Ruthann is quiet, minding her manners – she had none to speak of when I acquired her. Alice is smelling still better, a wonderful mellow scent with just a tinge of excitement – any day now. Erin is eating hungrily and enjoying her first glass of wine in a long while.

I savor dinner. Prawn soup, a clear delicate broth with chunks of crustacean and crispy snow peas; grilled snapper, just a tinge of butter and lemon; London Broil, garlic and rare Charloais beef; new potatoes, salad, herb-stuffed tomatoes, bread, Italian gelato for dessert. My eagerness for the Project heightens the enjoyment, and every sensation from the mild warmth blowing in through the slatted shutters to the scents of my chattel. The conversation is light, IngolfTech affairs, sports, a little human politics – that mostly from Jenny, my Household knowing how soon such things will be irrelevant.

“All my life, I’ve been fighting my appetite,” Jenny says, after the conversation drops work – she can’t follow all of Peter and Erin’s technicalities, although she’s got a good basic grasp of information systems. “And now I can eat as much as I want, and I still feel guilty.”

“I just enjoy the food,” Erin says. “A lot better than the Navy, let me tell you, or Hamhock, Georgia, home of fried-in-lard, either.”

She smiles at Jennifer, who seems a little baffled; I watch the interplay. Jennifer’s a little surprised that Erin doesn’t feel any particular resentment of her big-city gloss or her degrees; she could cope with envy, but calm frustrates her. So does the other’s refusal to be drawn into even the most subtle of clashes, and Erin’s occasional stab of irony. New Yorkers, I’ve noticed, seem to think they have a monopoly on that quality.

The real irony is that they’re not that different, underneath, I think. Both have this inner hunger, and they’re both survivor types.

The housegirls clear away the plates and set out cheeses, fruits; I smile and thank them. One looks at me with shy longing that comes to me as a clear scent, hunger and innocent salt musk. Later, I think. After contact is made. Until then, be cautious… although she reminds me a little of Shawonda. That was an interesting campaign; the most successful strategy there was one Erin suggested, African music as a start – that and working together on the obstetrics allayed her suspicions wonderfully, and then… I smile at the happy memory.

Erin is smiling at me. She’s become alarmingly acute at reading my body language, nearly as good as a servus raised in the Household. And the chattel who know around the table are picking up on my pheromones, of course.

I turn back to Jenny. She’s wearing a little dress that must have cost her a fair percentage of a month’s commissions, and she’s earning a great deal these days. I’ve come to rather like the formal clothes of this world; they’re restrictive compared to the Domination’s line, but there’s a certain elegant changefulness to them. This one shows a blush spreading to the upper curve of her breasts; she’s being affected too.

“Guilt over eating?” I say, and shake my head. “What are appetites for, but to be satisfied in the most pleasing, the most… entertaining manner possible?” I say. 

“Well, I am Jewish,” she laughs.

“The problem is that you’re human.”

“And you aren’t?”

“Well, no.”

She laughs again. “Oh, I know, you’re a time-traveler – you told me.”

Everyone around the table joins her merriment, some of them sharing glances with each other; I do too. Well, she won’t be able to complain I didn’t keep her informed, I think. I’m undecided whether or not to prove it to her just yet… perhaps not, not until the financing is very solid and I’ve had time to bond more closely, break her a little. It’s a pity she doesn’t have close friends among the Household, as many of the others did – that does make it easier for the human to adjust, seeing people they like and trust happy in their new status. Shawonda might have panicked very badly, I think, if Erin and Peter hadn’t been there for her. As it is, she’s still dealing with the facts mainly by not thinking of them most of the time when she’s not with me. I’ll break that down, but it takes patience.

Ruthann comes back into the room. “He’s crying,” she says. “Marie-Claire says it’s not the diaper.”

I nod at Peter, and he rises and grasps the handles of Erin’s chair.

“Conditioned response setting in,” he says. “Well, I suppose he has a right to dinner too.” I’m a dad, he mutters to himself. I’m actually a dad. That’s almost as amazing as everything else that’s happened. 

Ruthann pushes Alice after them; the brooder waves to me as she goes, a twiddling of the fingers, and winks. 

Have fun, she subvocalizes. Jennifer flushes as we’re left alone, and I go to the counter to pour us each a brandy. 

“Come on, let’s look at the gallery,” I say with kindly cruelty, and she flushes still more deeply. That’s where I first took her, after a swim that time she was down for the initial IPO offering.

We go in to the long room; I’ve added another mural, a scene on the moon, one of the big domed craters. The viewpoint is a grove of tall spindly palms, with a picnic party sitting under them on green turf starred with flowers. Myself and my mate Alois and one of our grown children lying amid the plates and hampers; a serf laughing at something I’ve said as she packs cutlery, and we nibble grapes and wedges of watermelon. Beside Alois is a favorite of his, cuddled against his chest with his eyes closed as he lays his head on the Draka’s breast. Alois runs fingers through his long black hair, the other hand resting on the smooth bare curve of a hip -- a young servus… what was his name? Johan, yes… I recall the day so vividly; there is a neocondor soaring overhead, ten yards of bronze-gold splendor from wingtip to wingtip against the green of the distant glassy sky… the air mildly warm, and I can see a waterfall stretching down a kilometer from the crater wall, ending in a pool of eternal spray. Not far away a pride of zebcats was lies on a hillside beneath an oak, the green-and-black stripes of their coats almost disappearing although the feline smell is strong, only the tufts of their ears showing; a guardian ghouloon snores, curled against a white lunar boulder… 

I was very happy then; and very young, barely a century.

I sigh; now Alois is a quarter of a millennium dead, all his fire and wit and fierceness and seventy years of partnership, Johan gone three centuries, that sweet smile and salty sense of humor only a memory; young Elvina had her neck broken in a duel when she was just fifty… We plan to rule for eternity, but change is the answer of the Universe to all plans and thought, I muse for a moment. Defiance: Yet we shall master that too, in the end!

“These fantasy pieces of yours, they’re weird,” Jennifer says. Hastily: “Not that they aren’t beautiful, but… there’s something about them that spooks me.”

Jennifer moves on quickly to the next picture, an easel piece. She stops and then looks aside, darts her eyes back, looks away once more. Ah, I think. That’s the one that Erin turned pink at. Jennifer seems to find it a bit disturbing too. Odd creatures, humans. So conflicted.

It shows Erin, kneeling on the rumpled bed in the Waldorf-Astoria in New York. She’s nude except for the broad collar of black leather and silver studs around her neck, the chain of the leash leading aside to where it’s looped and secured around one bedpost. I think it’s one of my better contemporary pieces, myself; I’ve caught the sweat-sheen on her skin and the texture of her mouth, the way her breasts had already started to grow fuller with the pregnancy and her waist thicken a little, the red lip-marks on her bust and torso. And the expression on her face as she leans back with her hands on her heels, watching something under heavy eyelids… hmmm. Yes, that was the night before we left; she’s resting there, and watching me and Andrea, the elevator wench. 

Although to be fair that was a job to pay Andrea’s tuition at NYCU. Pleasant little thing; Erin liked her too.

Jennifer turns aside. “Easy for her,” she almost growls; that brings a chuckle from me. It’s always amusing when humans try to do that… I come up behind her and touch her on the neck, the shoulders, down her arms, stroking my fingers along just lightly enough to brush the sensitive fine hairs at the nape of her neck. Her skin roughens into goose bumps, and she gasps. Not all that stands out, in the thin fabric of that gown.

“I’ve noticed a little tension between you two, at the meetings,” I say, feeling her shudder and enjoying the changes in her scent, then tension in her skin, the way blood throbs in her neck with an iridescent sheen. “That’s unfair, Jennifer; she’s trying to be friendly.”

“She’s gay, isn’t she?” Jennifer says. “I’m… I thought I was straight.”

“Yes, she is, and yes, you are,” I say, and take a deeper breath, testing. She’d need much more exposure to me to genuinely reprogram her hypothalamus and limbic system – redo the neural connections established during fetal and late-latency development, not just short-circuit them temporarily. Only Alice and Dolores have been around me long enough for that to happen fairly strongly; and Tom, in the opposite direction. “And no, things haven’t been easier for her, in most respects. She’s had her adjustments to make.”

“How did she get pregnant?” Jennifer asks. “Turkey baster?”

“Don’t be catty,” I say. “And no, it was group sex.” I smile as I watch her ears burn pink. “I’m quite fond of that, now and then, every week or two. It was a bit upsetting for Erin, though; not to mention Peter.” I turn her around, and smile down into worried brown eyes where thought is drowning in sensation. “Jenny, I’m not like other people. Not at all. Around me, a…completely different set of rules apply. Don’t make comparisons; it’ll just mislead you and make you unhappy. Erin’s not a rival, any more than Alice or Tom are. No individual can… encompass… me, that way. Just accept that I’m different, and where I’m concerned, so are you. OK?”

“It’s all about you, isn’t it?” she says, her voice shaking. “Even the birth, there were the parents but it was all centered on you.”

“That’s the way I’m made,” I say, nodding. “You’re not at the center of your life any more, Jennifer. You haven’t been, since I decided to make you mine. If that weren’t so, would you be here, now, with me? Despite all your fears.”

She stirs a little, and tugs against my finger-and-thumb grip on her chin, uselessly. “What if I don’t want to remake my life and tear everything up by the roots just because you say so?”

“Because you will, if I say so,” I say, speaking close to her face. “You’d wear that collar –” I nod towards the picture “ – if I told you to, wouldn’t you? In Times Square, at high noon, if I asked you to.”

Her eyes have gone enormous, and the pulse beats in her throat. Better, I think. She’s slipping under my control faster this time, repeated exposure and subconscious acceptance wearing grooves through her resistance.

“Won’t you?” I ask. “Do anything I ask.” My hands trail down and then grip, firmly, just at the edge of pain, and she arches her back in quick startlement. “Anything at all.”

“I think… yeah,” she says at last, her voice tiny. I scent her readiness. “Right now… yeah, I would. Oh, God, I think about you all the time and dream you and you scare me, this scares me, I don’t know what’s happening.”

Trembling hands touch my face. I kiss her deeply and she whimpers. The dress comes off quickly, her hands fumbling to help me. I sink back onto a couch, pulling her across my lap, her knees outside mine. She looks around quickly as my hands travel over her, then one down the line of her spine, another along the scalloped curve of her stomach.

“Gwen, it’s so open here,” she whispers, arms around my neck, face jammed into the curve where it meets my shoulder as if she could hide from the world.

“Perfect,” I say, and spread my knees wider, parting hers as my hands meet, feeling her convulse and the long shuddering gasp against my skin. The breeze blows the white gauze of the curtains in through the opened French doors, and the moon is setting, casting a silver pathway across the dark hammered metal of the ocean. 

**

I’ve an image in my pocket /Of some dark demon  
That temptation brought to life  
And it chokes all of my breath out /I’m scratching and screaming  
Till morning comes to night  
Place your hand/my body will decide  
Place your hand/my anger will subside  
There are fragments of possessions /Shards of past relations  
Splintering my skin  
A fear so black and hollow /It can suffocate creation  
And refuse to let you in  
Place your hand/my body will decide  
Place your hand/my anger will subside  
And they speak to me like prophets in my dreams  
Speak to me like prophets in my dreams  
Shouting like prophets in my dreams…  
Sometimes I think it’s easy /Too easy for the living  
To receive the promised land  
Can flesh provide the answer /The reason for sensation  
Justify your hand  
Place your hand/my body will decide  
Place your hand/my anger will subside

Melissa Etheridge’s Never Enough album echoes through my rooms in the House; I’ve given up my apartment and moved onto the second floor of the mansion Gwen lives in. It’s more convenient, in many ways. I pace, restless; the baby’s down for a nap, and I’ve found that once he’s asleep, nothing short of blowing a raspberry on his tummy will wake him up. Until he’s ready; then, he lets you know he’s ready to rock and roll.

He really is a good baby; not too hard to bed down at night; the midnight and three o’clock feedings have become routine. I don’t think either of us really wakes up; we just go on autopilot. He’s a very happy little critter; bright hazel eyes and a thick mop of black hair. He’s alert and curious already, struggling to hold his head up to look around when I hold him. Peter adores him; we’re still debating what to name him, though. Muhmis, Gwen, gave us the privilege. I really hadn’t thought much about it before, with all the work and everything about the Project coming to a head, but a name’s important.

The music haunts me, niggling at something I keep buried safely inside. Hidden from myself but more importantly, it stays hidden, for the most part, from Gwen. I don’t want to annoy her if at all possible. The consequences of annoying a Draka are… uncomfortable, to say the least. I let it slip when I held Junior for the first time, thinking about his future, but I’ve stuffed it deep down inside. It only comes out when I’m alone, now; if I show it to Peter, he gets even more upset than he is. It’s taking him longer to adjust than most of us, I think, but he’s managing to come to grips with it.

If he rejected it, refused to accept it, I think it would break my heart. I also think Gwen would kill him; I know she would have, earlier, when the Project wasn’t so close to completion. I would do anything to keep Peter safe; I have grown even closer to him over the past few years than we were when we were Navy buddies. Too bad he’s not a woman, I chuckle; I’d be married, if he was a she… be a good looking woman, too, come to think of it.

Shawonda had stopped by earlier, for a lunch visit—I always enjoy talking with her. I’m glad Gwen chose her for the Household, too; she’s a bright, vibrant woman and I think she’s adjusting okay. She and I have become friends in a deeper way since then; long walks on the beach, discussing all these wild times have cemented the bond between us. On top of that, she can kiss really well, as I discovered when Gwen took us both one night…

I pick up the lunch plates and stack them on the cart they came in; I’m still not used to ordering help around. I have certainly grown to appreciate having help with the baby, though. I’ve gotten back into the swing of work, slowly but surely, and having the help to play nanny has made things ever so much easier all the way around. Marie Claire is so good with him, so gentle…she’s a good girl, I think.

Ruthann’s fascinated by the baby, wanting to hold him half the time and bounce him the other half; I have to keep an eye on her so her enthusiasm doesn’t get too intense. But she’s slowed down on the bouncing thing, after Junior upchucked on her. Well, I did warn her he had just eaten…she should listen in the future. It was kind of mean for me to laugh, though, when I saw her face. Junior looked happy, relieved; she looked horrified. Alice and I cracked up…

“Speak to me like prophets in my dreams…” I hum along with Melissa Etheridge, and notice what I’ve just said. Yep, those lines sound familiar…I sigh, sitting down at my desk, pulling out the keyboard and the flat screen monitor. At least those dreams haven’t happened very often in my life. I remember the last time one happened, and Gwen’s reactions, and mine…shuddering, I turn to my work with a sensation of relief, almost. What are you relieved about, says the voice in my head, always there, always sardonic and cool; relieved to not think about the losses, or relieved not to think about the future…

**  
Erin shifts the baby from her breast to the cloth on her shoulder, patting until he gives a small surprised burp. “There we go, sailor,” she says. “Underway refueling complete.”

We are sitting down by the pool; it’s one of Erin’s favorite spots, and after a week she’s fairly mobile again. The awning shades us, and makes the Haitian nursemaid a pool of shadow as she takes the baby back and lays him down in the carriage. I inhale the milky odor of clean human baby, watch Erin’s eyes on the child, Peter’s on both of them, and smile fondly.

“Thank you, Marie-Claire,” Erin says; she’s still a little uneasy with having things done for her. I think she hasn’t quite grasped that as my saafn, my servant, she’s at the top of a great hierarchy… not as obvious here as in the Domination, of course, and she wasn’t raised to it.

Peter looks up from his laptop; there’s a quiet beep as the wireless modem cuts in, shifting data. peter, I say via transducer. try a direct link. like this.

The slight scar behind his right ear has faded almost to invisibility in the last ten days. The process is pretty well automatic, needing only a little guidance from me; the quasi-organic material only needs a small piece of bone removed. The rest it permeates, growing through the pores of the bone, then snaking tendrils thinner than a neuron inward until it meets and mates with the cortex and memory centers of the brain.

It’s learning to control and use it that’s the hard part. I grasp through the slaved link as Peter slips; that download would have had him vacant-eyed for fifteen minutes. Patiently, I take him through the steps of assimilating direct-input data again. It’s odd showing an adult this; servus and drakensis alike get theirs implanted in infancy. In a way it brings back memories of my own youth, when the first crude models came out and I had to learn the technique.

i… think… i’m getting… the… hang… of… it, Erin thinks/transmits. 

“You’ve got to remember,” I say out loud, “that just dumping information into your heads doesn’t mean you know it. You have to review it, either as it comes in – here’s the protocol for slowing it down – or by bringing it back up after the download.” I speak in Talk, and they both nod understanding before they realize it.

“I can’t believe I’ve learned a language in only one week!” Erin says.

“Mmm, you haven’t, really,” I say. “You’re speaking in the wrong tense, for starters.” I grin at her as she grimaces. “That’s all right. Talk is actually quite close to English, but a lot of the concepts are strange. That’s an illustration of what I mean by the difference between having information and knowing things.”

“It’s an… interesting language,” Peter says. He’s gotten the tense right – Specific Submissive, Intimate Mode, servus pronunciation – he couldn’t handle MasterTalk, of course, not having the right ears or vocal cords.

“When you’re more used to it,” I go on, “you can establish, hmmm, batch files in the transducer, and then key them in almost like synthetic memories by using a triggering phrase or scene. After you’re about a hundred and twenty, hundred and forty, that becomes essential – otherwise your natural storage starts overloading with accumulated trivia and noise.”

They share a glance; it’s still sinking in with them, that they stand a pretty good chance of seeing twice that many years. Two long human lifetimes makes nearly half my age… and neither of them is more than a quarter of a century, so far. 

“Here,” I say. “Slave link –” a phrase that refers to their transducers, not them; in Talk, that’s crystal-clear “-- and I’ll show you how pseudo-memory functions. You won’t get all the overtones of the experience, but most of it will come through – and you can replay.”

Night on Mars, under the twin moons. Red desert and patches of dirty snow in the shade of boulders. Scraggly genegeneered cold-hardy cactus and waxy-leaved grass; this is an area where terraforming is still in the opening stages. It is cold; my breath smokes, my skin feels it through the leather and fur of my hunt-costume. Cold enough to kill a human in short order, here in the polar winter. Cold leaches the air of scent, but makes IR sight more sensitive. I am hungry, weary, far from any help. This iron wilderness is the product of my hands, my brain, my commands – only in the last century has the atmosphere grown thick enough for lungs evolved on Earth.

Muted a little by time and machine-storage, my emotions come back to me; hunger, tension, pleasure-fear, kill-lust, states of mind which can only be described in my own language, the tongue the New Race developed. A stir of heat, and then the long loping low-gravity leap of the buddu-lion. Its long mouth opens with a screaming roar, feathered mane standing up in a peacock ruff around its neck, and the fangs show; three pairs of wiry-slender legs dig gouts out of the frozen red soil as it charges. Their claws are like scimitars of red bone, the teeth yellow daggers, the long sinuous body a compound of cat and weasel.

I scream back at it and lunge forward, as fast… no faster, and the beast outmasses me by four. The long spear in my hands drives home, and I scream again at the hot metallic sweetness of its blood-scent. The charge drives me back, whipping me about like a pendulum on a mad clock, but I set my feet and guide the rush meant to kill me. I have my chosen rock behind me, and the steel shod butt slams home into a boulder laid down the last time Mars had oceans, three billion years before. The long double-edged blade of the spear burns deep, driven by the buddu-lion’s own ferocity. It splits the great heart, and the animal dies as its claws rake soil not an inch from my right boot, and I feel a surge of triumph warm through loins and belly and chest, pleasure so intense it snaps my teeth together in a long snarling rictus and leaves me shaken, weak for a second.

I kneel by the animal and bury my mouth in the wound, sucking down the blood and feeling its strength warm my stomach. Then I rise, foot on my prey and spear shaken aloft in both hands. My long echoing shriek of victory silences the Arctic night, more savage than anything it holds…

like that, I think-say. don’t try that at home, children -- they both startle, and I chuckle but that gives you some idea of the bandwidth involved.

Ruthann comes pelting down the trail from the house. “Muhmis, Muhmis!” she cries. “Alice says to come quick, Tom’s taking her to the birthing room – it’s started.”

My rush leaves the humans toiling in my wake, forgotten for the moment.

**

Alexandra is beautiful, I think, as I heft her solid little body up onto my shoulder, patting her. Alice is napping, and I told Marie Claire not to wake her. Hey, I’ve enough for two; Patrick, my baby, is snoring as he sleeps in the carriage next to my chaise lounge. A burp erupts from her tummy, and Alexandra relaxes against me. Her leaf-green eyes look up at me, focusing intently on my face, as I cradle her in my arms. She has all the charisma her mother has, plus the attraction of a baby for me. A slightly pudgy fist waves, and she gurgles something important to me. My theory is that babies are born knowing the secrets to the universe, and they cry because they’re forgetting them as they grow…

Peter and Gwen walk down the path, hand in hand. He has the slightly dazed look we all get when we’ve been…serving…her, and she looks radiant. Relaxed. The Project is so close to completion; we’re all a little nervous about what will happen, but she’s reassured us that we’ll be safe, and the takeover will be as peaceful as she can manage it…

“Well, I see someone’s been busy,” Gwen chuckles, carefully lifting her daughter from my arms. The baby chortles delightedly, and waves her arms and legs. Gwen blows softly on her tummy, and they both laugh. I’m filled with a moment of admiration, of love, for the two; they’re both so beautiful, and strong. And both as deadly as a cane break rattler, girl, the tiny voice in my head whispers.

Gwen puts the baby down in the carriage next to Patrick, and Alexandra whines a bit before falling asleep with abrupt finality. Smoothing the covers over the two, Gwen smiles, her face alight with pleasure. She turns to us, still smiling. “Ready to go up to New York, tomorrow? All packed?”

“Yes, Muhmis,” Peter and I answer together. He’s perched on the lounge with me, his arm around my legs. I smell the clean, brisk scent of his aftershave; I’ve grown used to it, and it means comfort. The breeze whisks the palm fronds together above us, and I look up at Gwen.

Leaf-green eyes meet hazel ones, and I hear, in my mind, her voice, sent through the transducer: Don’t let Alexandra drain you dry, sweetlin’…

I stumble through the procedures for a long moment, and finally manage to respond the same way: Oh, no, don’t worry, Muhmis, there’s lots more, apparently, where her dinner came from…I didn’t want to wake Alice, since she’s sleeping so well…no nightmares today, anyway…

Gwen’s head swivels toward the sleeping Australian, who’s in the shade of some of the overarching palms. Muhmis’ brow creases slightly with concern, worry; we’ve all been keeping an eye on Alice for the past few days… 

She had come to me, one morning, early; before the sun was up, in fact. Her face, usually so ruddy and animated, was pale and drawn; there were dark circles under her eyes, which were red. “Gadzooks, Alice, old girl, what’s wrong? Got a bug or something? Come on in, girlfriend; you look like you didn’t sleep a wink last night…”

“I wish I bloody well hadn’t, Erin…I think…I think…” her voice broke, tears rising to run down her cheeks, “I think I’m fucking well going mad. Oh, god, Erin…”

She collapsed into my arms, I remember, and cried for over an hour, huge, wracking sobs that threatened to pull her apart. I just held on, silent, rocking her in my tight grip. Marie Claire came in to see what the ruckus was, and at my nod, took Patrick out for a stroll along the beach. Finally, the sobs slowed, and she began telling me things…

Things that froze my blood, that made me so angry I could have killed someone with my bare hands. Alice and I have become very, very close; she’s like a sister to me, and I know she feels the same way about me. I’ve confessed stuff to her—fears about Gwen, fears for Peter; some of my icky childhood stuff, but she’s never really done the same. Until now. The things she tells me, about her uncle and aunt in Australia, and what they did to her, and how no one believed her when she tried to tell…

She cried again at that, heart-brokenly. I murmur nothings to her, cradling her in safety. I can’t believe that people can hurt innocent children like that; it’s so damn infuriating. I whisper her name, over and over, trying to ground her, make her come back to the here-and-now. What’s triggered this, I wonder, as I hold her shaking form.

Finally, she sat up, gave me a soggy kiss on the cheek, and vanished into the bathroom for a few minutes. When she came out, she was still pale but more composed. “So, sport, ready to commit me?” Her tone is light, but there’s a lot behind the words: do you still love me, do you still accept me, trust me?

I jumped up and hugged her; I whispered into her ear, under the wheat-blonde hair, “Only if you’re ready to commit me, Miz Thang!” We laughed and hugged for long moments. When we finally stood apart, I guided her into the sitting room, with its view of the ocean framed in the open French windows. The curtains fluttered in the salty, fresh breeze, and I sat her down at the couch.

“Why now? Why…why do I even have to remember all this shit, Erin? I’m bloody tired of it.”

“Why now? Maybe because you’re coming down off the high you were on while carrying Alexandra, partly because you’re tired; maybe because we’re all getting stressed about the upcoming… events…” I paused, thinking. I’m no therapist; I’m a good computer technician, and a mother, now. “Sweet, it’s something we have to go through. An exorcism, if you want to think of it like that. It’s a wound, a deep one, and if you let all the shit build up inside it, a huge, deadly infection can set in…you have to clean the wound out, even though it hurts like hell. You’ll always have the scar, but it will heal, be part of the past. Like my ‘zipper’ on my back, like the tiny scars around my fingers and eyes…that’s the way I see it, kiddo.”

“Yeah…I can see what you mean…it just hurts so much…and the anger scares the bloody hell out of me, too,” Alice murmured, face in her hands. She continued: 

“I don’t want Gwen to worry about me, about me being stable…y’know? I’m her brooder, I can’t go bonkers…”

“You aren’t, and you won’t. You just have to try and ride the wave. I can’t say I understand completely, Alice, because as bad as my childhood was, it wasn’t that bad…the beatings were, but that’s about it…but I can relate ‘cause of my feelings about the Nimitz, and healing from the wounds, the burns, the mental hurts… I’m here for you, babe,” I said, softly, and stroked her blonde mane of hair, tousled from her nightmares, her sleepless night. “And Gwen won’t think you’re nutty. It’s okay.”

We’d spent the rest of the morning talking together, letting her vent years of anger, rage, terror. I called Gwen and told her Alice and I needed some time together. Muhmis didn’t question why; she just told me to take however much time we needed. Alice slept over that night, and woke me twice with screams. I held her, and in the early morning hours, we made love. It was a natural thing; no power plays, no weird mind games, just holding and reassuring each other that we could be wounded, survive, and still be able to feel joy, ecstasy…it was the first time for Alice and I to be together, too, without the stimulus of Gwen’s incredible presence. She was shy at breakfast, but I joshed her out of it…

I smile, remembering, and Gwen grins down at me, reading my body language, listening to my subvocalizations.

“Let’s go for a stroll, Erin…”

I follow her down to the beach, stretching as I walk. Peter flops onto the lounge, eyes closed; I look back at him fondly, and chuckle. “Looks like Alice, Alexandra, Patrick and Peter are all sleepy heads today…”

“Yes…Alexandra will sleep more than a human baby, at this point; she’s growing faster. And I did ride Peter pretty hard, earlier. He’s such a fine pretty buck…” She wolf-grins at me, and I feel the color rise in my cheeks. “But I haven’t had you for a few days…tonight, then. It will be sweet, after not taking you for a few weeks, don’t you think?”

“Um…er…” I blush, and duck my head. She’s so damn direct sometimes, I think, and hear her clear laugh over the rush and hiss of the surf. Gulls glide overhead, and the brilliant white of the sand is accentuated by the varying colors of blue and green of the waves.

Gwen jumps down off the wooden walkway, into the sand, and turns back to me, still laughing. She holds her hands out to me, and I jump, trusting her to catch me, hold me. You trust her, the voice whispers, how ironic, my dear, how ironic…I stifle it, silently, and wrap my arms around Muhmis’ neck, legs around her slender, steel-muscled waist. She hugs me close, kissing me softly, erotically.

“Thank you for dealing with Alice, darlin’…you are truly a precious one, you know that? I find myself enjoying you more and more…” another long kiss, “you, Peter and Patrick…he’s a lovely child; I know Alexandra will be pleased with him; they’ll grow up together, learn from each other. You are a wonderful wench, Erin, in more ways than,” a longer kiss, “one…”

In the shade of the palms, she takes me, long, slow, deep—gently. It’s a different way, this time; I give more; she takes more…the afternoon spills into the evening as the sun sinks into the azure waves, the breezes caressing our skin, my cries and her answering ones caught in the roar of the surf, tossed back to us. For a few hours, it’s just the two of us; the rest of the world runs past…


	18. Chapter Eighteen

Chapter 18

I pace, and watch Erin unpack. Normally I wouldn’t have her doing such work, but I’m keeping nonessential personnel to a minimum here in the New York section in these final days: my Inner Circle, the most vital technicians, and some of the most loyal of my Haitian guards. These quarters are a bit cramped even so, with most of the humans in bunks dormitory-style below, and small bedrooms for the most important on this upper level. My own suite is less Spartan, of course; furnished in neo-Art-Deco, the closest style they have here to Domination tastes, and air-filtered to take some of the city-stink out of it. I scent Erin clearly; she’s wire-tight under her calm, eager and terrified at once… not that I’m free of apprehension myself. There’s a creamy tinge of resignation to Erin as well, reassuring, an acceptance; and under that and her fear, a hint of… sadness? Melancholy, perhaps. It’s hard to get the fuller nuances of human emotion by scent, sometimes, as if even their own bodies weren’t certain of how they felt.

Tall windows let in a view of New York: the towers of midtown like mountains in the snow across a sea of lesser roofs, a low eerie glow of lights through the softly falling flakes. I’ve kept the lights in here down, just enough to let a human function, comfortable to me. I’ve always felt safer in the darkness when threatened; I think it goes back to my childhood, when I first became aware that I could see in what most of those around me – humans – found left them sightless. The dimness of my lair is comforting, at a level below intellect, in this early winter’s evening.

A delicate matter, whether to bring Alice and Alexandra or not… but in the end, this is the safest place on the planet right now. I force lips back down on my teeth; that does not make it safe. She and Patrick and Marie-Claire are in the nursery. I can feel Peter carefully interlocking with the Project info systems; he and Erin are the only ones good enough with their transducers to link faster than the clumsy keyboards and voice-recognition systems allow. We’ll do the first run around three a.m., and until half an hour before the test all I can do is watch things run as if on rails, and wait for an emergency I hope will not come.

“I’m glad you could help Alice so effectively,” I say. Strange. Strange that even humans could treat sibling-kin so, and even stranger that memories could vanish like that, be there and not-there at the same time. Mine are accessible to me, all of them, the only exceptions those I’ve edited down to transducer-storage to leave space free. And even those I can recover at will.

“We’re close,” Erin says. “She needed someone to listen.”

“Closer than ever,” I chuckle, and Erin grins and blushes slightly. Natural enough, and a positive development, between Alexandra and Patrick’s ranking caregivers. “But seriously, you did well. I’d have had trouble doing what you did; the emotional dynamic is too different, and I’m not familiar with that sort of trauma or how it affects you humans. Besides the Project being so pressing.”

I pace, review the data, then thrust worry out of my mind with an effort and sigh. “Four years,” I say in my own language. “Now that they’re coming to an end, I’m almost sorry.”

“Almost, Muhmis?” Erin answers. She’s getting much better at Talk; her native dialect has many of the same sounds, apart from the aspirates and gutturals. This time she’s in faultless Personal Submissive Intimate Mode, servus voice.

“Endeavor/conquest/effort-sustained, no pack, achievement-worthy-lasting, reinforcement-self, pleasure-seized,” I say, and mentally translate it into English: “It’s been hard work, lonely, sometimes I nearly despaired, but it’s been… fun, and interesting.”

“Well, I could say the same, Muhmis,” she says, dropping back into her own language. “There, finished.” She looks out the windows as well. “And finished. At the end of the millennium… sort of ironic.”

I’m startled into a laugh. “And this is almost exactly the same date as the Final War started… I was off-Earth then, out beyond Pluto – experimental ship. Irony redoubled; the same conquest, made twice in the same year, and I there both times. The Universe – multiverse – is a hunting cat more subtle than we, and more cruel.”

That startles her. I’ve noticed how humans find it odd that we Draka personify existence as a predator that stalks us; odder still, how humans in this culture use the metaphor of a kindly parent… and then literally believe it. The ancients were wiser, with gods willful and changeable and dangerous.

A call comes from the perimeter sensors; I transducer-tap it, and I can see Jennifer’s worried face frowning at the pickup as she keys in the code. I drop an order into the Project net, and go to stand at the tall windows overlooking the city… the world.. . that will soon belong to the Race. And to me. I have a treasure of great worth here, I think. I must not crush it in haste. My mind has been forbidden to worry about the signaling devices, and it tries to spin off into speculation about Domination politics, how I will manage Alexis – he’s almost certainly still Archon, you’d have to use antimatter to get his fundament out of that seat, and he’s more clever and more deadly than any Draka I’ve ever met… except in a mirror.

Exasperated, I stretch and snarl. I can’t remember this much stress since the Final War, when we were all wondering if we could pull Earth’s ecosystem through the aftermath of the energies unleashed. And surprised, later, at how quickly we succeeded – the knowledge gained helped immeasurably to speed the reclaiming of Mars, and that occupied me for a hundred and fifty years. The memory heartens me; we of the Race brought a whole world forth from dead rock and frozen gas to serve us. We strove, we suffered; some of us died, but our Will prevailed.

The door opens and Jennifer comes in. “Gwen –” she says, and then after a glimpse of my face: “Muhmis?”

I force the muscles that are pulling my features into a mask of planes and angles to relax, take a deep breath, trip the forces that are roiling at my control over into another path. There’s no point in frightening my own human chattel with my War Face, but even drakensis self-discipline has its limits. I can command my glands, but I cannot tell my brain to stop thinking unless I will myself unconscious. I can trick it, though…

“Hello, Jenny,” I say. She scents cold, frightened, hungry but too tense to eat, a warmth of longing-fear towards me, a prickle of displaced doubt-aggression-doubt-envy towards the other human. Corn-pone is calm, as always, I hear her murmur to herself. Cow. 

“Hi, Jenny,” Erin says in turn; Jennifer returns the greeting, fidgeting with her purse. I look at her with a little exasperation, and relay the subvocalization to Erin.

“Go put the cat in your room,” I say. She has it in a carrier with a wire front, and the beast is not happy, either at that or at my unfamiliar scent or at being off its territory; I must take time to get acquainted, someday. Cats amuse me. “And then come back here.”

She remembers to bob her head as she obeys. Odd, how she reacted when I told her. A full day of hysterics, sometimes in a screaming frenzy that not even the pheromones could pierce – I had to have Shawonda tranquilize her -- and then surprisingly rapid adjustment, just when I’d come to the reluctant conclusion that I was going to have to kill her. She will be very useful, helping to stabilize the human economic system when we seize control. It would not do to have those who submit suffer for it, and it will be generations before this line is fully modernized. And economics can be a tool of domination; I’ve learned that here, not least from watching her.

“Things are going quite well,” I say when she returns. “You’re the last to come in; I’m glad you’re here where it’s –” relatively “—safe. But there’s a bit of a wait now; the gravitational flux has to be exactly right, and we have to wait for some movements in the solar gravity field as well.” I laugh, a yelping sound. “The position of the planets actually does make a difference for this.” Astrology was one human superstition I found enormously amusing.

“Oh,” Jennifer says, snow melting on the collar of her mink coat. “Well, ah, should I –”

“No, stay,” I say. “You need to eat.” I let her feel approval/comfort, and a reluctant smile breaks forth.

The kitchens send up what they have on hand; bread, cold meats, salad, pastries. Jennifer relaxes enough to eat, and Erin makes herself a sandwich – she’s a nursing mother, after all, and feeds Alexandra occasionally as well. Draka infants have their own demands – Alice’s altered metabolism can supply the elements not present in human milk -- but the sheer extra nutrition is a help. And Erin was right, she does seem to produce far more than Patrick needs.

“I’ve been thinking over the single world currency idea,” Jennifer says. “It’s promising, especially when you’re going to run down military budgets so rapidly, but it’ll need very delicate timing. I think I should tap Alan Greenspan for it, once we get set up.”

I nod; it’s been a long time since the Domination has had more than a notional currency, an electronic accounting convenience. Here things are different.

“That’s your area of expertise, Jenny,” I say. “You’ll have full authority to commandeer resources and personnel.”

She shakes her head, laughing a little. “Hard to think of me drafting Greenspan,” she says. Court Jews, that’s us, she thinks/murmurs. She has unusually organized subvocalizations, a sign of a tidy mind. Hope we don’t get pogroms because of it...

“Oderint, dum metutant,” I say. Jenny picks it up, but Erin’s education, while excellent, hasn’t included the classics. “Old Roman saying,” I go on: “Let them hate, as long as they fear.” 

That was the unofficial motto of the Old Domination. It will be a while before the humans here fully break to our will; they may never, not completely, not while they remain human… but the old methods are still there in reserve. They served to conquer a world, before we remade it and made them unnecessary.

Erin winces a little; I know she’s self-conscious about how other humans will regard her for being close to me, after the conquest. Ultimately with envy, I think…

“How long do you think it will take Peter and me to get up to speed on Domination computers?” she says, changing the subject slightly. 

“Not long. You’ve got some grounding already, and info systems theory here is surprisingly advanced – further along than we were at the time of the Final War. Six months to a year, depending on the press of work otherwise. We’ll all be fiendishly busy, but I also want to take at least a few weeks off back home – I’ll be taking you with me, of course, as Alexandra and Alice will be along… Peter too. You a little later, Jenny; your specialty is immediately relevant, and we don’t have anyone in the Domination who can do what you do.”

Muhmis, Erin sends, more familiar with me by far. Her eyes slide over to Jennifer. do you really --

Yes, I reply.

Your will, Muhmis, Erin says, cheerfully enough. I’m not angry at her though, really. Please, don’t be rough with her?

Neither am I angry, just a little annoyed, I reply. It’ll help her settle in, in the long run, I amplify. She hasn’t broken to me fully yet. She can take the stress.

The conversation has calmed me, helped the mental exercises pull me out of an inappropriate approach to killmode. As I finish a pastry – Danish they call it here, which is odd, since the Danes apparently don’t make them – I slide a bare foot up the back of Jennifer’s leg. 

She jumps and squeaks; my smile is a little hard, and I capture her eyes. “Come on, wench, don’t tell me you haven’t been sensing what I want,” I say.

She nods slowly, opening her knees, and I stroke the insides of her thighs, caress her as she jerks and bites back a moan. Oddly, I don’t think she consciously was aware that I would take her until just now; I can scent and feel how her hindbrain was reacting, right enough, though. Jennifer trembles and looks aside at Erin, then squeaks again as she sees the other human pulling her sweater over her head.

“Hey,” Erin says kindly, putting a hand on hers. “Don’t get upset, girl. We serve Muhmis when and how she wants, and hell, this is going to a lot more fun than chewing our fingernails and drinking too much coffee. Just… accept it. I’ll help you along. “

“Erin’s being very supportive with you, Jenny,” I say. “Are you listening to me?” She nods. “You’re going to have to get used to Domination etiquette, and being impolite to a saafn senior to you could get you into trouble. So can hesitating in your obedience to me. Erin just begged you off a spanking; and I’m in an uncertain temper. You should be able to sense that and adapt to it.”

Jennifer nods again slowly; her eyes are very wide. I’ve never taken her with another before. Shy, I think. They usually are, to begin with. Getting over that will help her fully accept my ownership. She’s still full of jagged edges, sharp and nervy and always thinking. Not that that’s all bad, but she needs to know when to stop and just be as I want her at that moment.

“Jenny,” I say, chuckling and giving Erin a look of approval, “with the mood I’m in now, you do not want to be alone with me, believe me!”

The two humans strip and kneel to me, then come to the bed; Jenny’s your will, Muhmis, is a bit ragged – she’s almost hyperventilating – Erin’s warm and practiced. The New Yorker rubs her hands along her own shoulders, skin rippled with goose bumps, her body pale in the snow-glow through the windows. Erin has recovered most of her muscle tone; she has a waist again, but her breasts have changed shape a bit with the pregnancy and nursing, larger and softer, and there’s more fullness to her hips. I take a mouthful of her milk as I caress her, and she sighs and shudders, grinning and letting her head fall back against the pillow, stretching and arching her back.

“Your turn,” I say, kissing Jennifer with the rich taste of it on my lips. Her eyes are enormous as my hand guides her head…

**  
Good lord, I’m amazed I can still walk, I mutter to myself as I amble to the shower. Gwen and Jennifer are already in there, and from the gasps and slight shrieks, I’m guessing that they’re still… at it. Does Gwen never get tired, I wonder, looking at my shadowy form in the steamy mirror. I know I do. But she’s so…powerful; she makes me feel things I’ve never felt. Jennifer’s not so bad, either, I grin; quite the hot woman, once you get her fire a’goin’. I step into the huge, oversized shower stall, and stand under one of the nozzles, lathering up. Gwen has Jennifer propped against the tile wall, and the dark-haired woman’s head is snugged under Gwen’s chin. I hear her panting, a groan of pleasure, and Gwen’s deep-throated purr echoes back. Suddenly, Jennifer’s back arches, and she squeals, once, twice, as Gwen’s arm moves rapidly, and then Gwen herself stiffens, holding Jennifer immobile for a long moment.

I watch, my own body responding to the pheromonal and erotic clues, but what the will wants, sometimes the flesh can’t provide. I sigh, soaping myself, aware that I’ll be horny for hours but not really ready to do much. Maybe after the test, I console myself. There’s always later. I never, ever thought I’d meet a woman who could wear me out so much…I’ve always been a frisky critter, myself, wearing others out before I was done, and now the tables are definitely turned on this ole gal.

Gwen gently lowers Jennifer to her feet, still holding her close, kissing her. Jennifer sways a little, and giggles as Gwen nibbles an ear lobe. Gwen’s eyes catch mine, and I grin. She chuckles, and reaches over to stroke me. Her hand runs through the soap, caressing, seeking, and I shudder with delight. She realizes, though, after a moment, that I’m tired, physically, and she pulls me to her. Her strength always surprises me, and I gasp slightly as she lifts me off my feet, so that our faces are level. 

“Wore you out, did I, sweet?” Her leaf-green eyes are full of amusement, and she watches me blush. Pulling me closer, she kisses me, long, hard and deep, enjoying the reaction she gets from me. I return the kiss, feeling clumsy and somewhat helpless up in the air, and then pull back from her a bit. I grin, and Jennifer sighs.

“Yes, Muhmis—you really did a number on me this time. I need some recharge time, actually. Not that I don’t mind being kissed, of course,” I smile, and she kisses me again, more tenderly.

“Ah, well—we’ll have time later. We need to finish up here, sweetlins, and get ready for the test. It’s almost time. Here, Erin, scrub my back…it itches a bit, between my shoulders…” Gwen sets me down and turns, waiting for me to get the sponge soapy. I stroke it across her back, and she stretches, her purr rumbling deeper in her chest, a contentment sign I’ve learned to recognize and enjoy.

Jennifer is quickly through with her shower, and after rinsing Gwen free of soap, I wash my hair and jump out of the shower. Gwen’s toweling Jennifer down briskly, and I hear muffled giggles from the vibrating bundle of terry cloth. Muhmis’ eyes look over at me, and her voice whispers in my head: Best way to start the day, best way to end one…right, my peach?

I blush, and towel myself down quickly. Dressing, I hand Gwen her briefs. She thanks me with a bruising-strength kiss, hinting of more to come later, and then walks out into her bedroom to get dressed in her black uniform. When she’s done that, a change comes over her, and both Jennifer and I recognize it. She’s in command mode, now, not playful anymore. I help Jenny gather her clothes, and get into them, as Gwen stands, arms behind her back, gazing tensely out a window.

“Come on, youngsters. It’s time.” Her voice, clear and cool, snaps my head around, and I bow to her slightly. Jennifer stands behind me, hands clasped in front of her, nervous.

“Um, can I be there, too…Muhmis? I know Erin has to do computer work for you, but what will I do?” Jennifer’s voice is a bit shaky, and that’s the way my knees feel, too. Our hindbrains remember the look and smell of tiger; Gwen’s giving off some powerful vibes now, I think.

“Oh, you’ll be fine in the observation room. Come on.” She leads us from the room, play time forgotten.

As we walk swiftly down the corridor, I realize the magnitude of things. If this thing works, my god—everything will change. The whole world—political structures, history—everything. The thought chills me, and I half hope the experiment doesn’t work. Not yet; I’m not really ready for all this to happen, I think silently to myself. I watch the smooth motion of Gwen’s form preceding us down the hallway; the leopard grace, the noiseless stride, the way her muscles slide and bunch under the black uniform like they’re made of living steel. The world’s not ready for more of you, I muse, but if this thing works, that’s what we’re gonna get—a whole bunch more folks like you, lion-lady. A chill spreads down my chest, culminating in a pit of ice in my stomach as we walk into the huge, open area where all the equipment is.

**  
The tension in the converted warehouse is thick; I can scent it, and bewildered fear from the majority who are ignorant of what is to happen here. Erin is beside me, sitting in a swivel chair before her console; she took the time to nurse Patrick and shower, and she smells all business now, relaxed and ready, focused.

“I think I’m getting something!” Mueller calls from his station below on the Operations level, the floor of the converted building. The light down there is blue, the color of the screens and fluorescent tubes.

monitor, I tell Erin and Peter via the transducer, and feel their wordless acknowledgement.

I look down from the glassed-in observation platform that overlooks the remade warehouse. The circle of the fusion reactor surrounds the smaller circle of what I hope is an event-wave modulator… as close as I can come, with these infuriatingly primitive machines, with a device never built before and based on incomplete theory.

“I think –” Mueller calls, and I feel Peter and Erin’s minds wrestling with the machines, forcing precision as they have to switch algorithms second by second. My own consciousness feels stretched thin, monitoring, integrating as the power output peaks. There is a smell of ozone, and… I can’t describe it, I think. As if the world itself was stretched too -- Hair bristles up along my spine as memory prompts; the last time I felt this sensation was at Reichart Station… exactly here in geography, but on the Prime Line.

CRACK!

A pencil-thin beam snaps into existence above the circle of the modulator, precisely in its center. I can scent air being burned to ions, and the brief spark as it slices through the rooftop. Instruments flutter, but I had every subsystem armored against EMP, contained in Faraday cages. There must be havoc outside, as computer drives flip flop, circuit breakers slam open, fuses shatter and transformers self-destruct; the readings show nothing dangerous to organics, though.

My emotions freeze, and my thought takes on a clarity I’ve felt only in risk of death before. The beam continues for thirty-three point seven seconds, then stops. A point of brightness grows in the center of my abortion of a beacon, then spreads outward into a circle of light, like a pool of mercury rippling in an unseen wind.

“EVACUATE THE OPERATIONS LEVEL FLOOR,” I say through the Project speakers, seizing control of them through my transducer. 

The serfs below are well-trained; some of them are bawling in panic, but they run to their assigned exits. I open the observation room door, and step out onto the causeway.

The rippling surface bunches; the instruments tell me something has come through, far too small to see – a sensor probe. I would tremble, if it were not for the control taught me long ago in the Scholarium of War. Instead I close my eyes, and trigger the data file I’ve kept waiting and updated for this. Better than I dared hope, I exult, snarling with a triumph vaster than space. Data flows back in return.

The silvery force layer stretches, parts. A figure is rising through it, a black sketch of a hominid form – a drakensis, in a battlesuit of memet. It flexes and flows back from his face and hands, and for the first time in five years I scent the sharp clean challenging smell of my own species.

“Archon,” I say, looking down at him, in Respectful Mode. “Service to the State.”

“Glory to the Race, Grandmother,” he replies, with a wry twist to his mouth, looking around. He does have an ironic sense of humor; I’ve done the greatest service to the Domination of any of our people in all our history, and it will bring immeasurable glory… to both of us, but more to me. Then, sharply: “Who’s in the link?”

“Saafn, technicians – bonded, loyals,” I say. His eyebrows rise in respect. “I didn’t built all this with my own hands, you know. Schedule?”

“Power,” he says. I review the estimates and whistle, silently. Figures and schematics run glowing through my mind. 

“We had to put the entire planetary grid on emergency standby for this.”

I see the Prime Line Manhattan, but shaved clear of forest and ruins, the skeletal shapes of massive power receptors reaching for the sky like claws. The shapes of ghouloons wait in ranks, and weapons platforms cruise in the sky above, carefully avoiding the beams from the orbital relays. I recognize Tolya’s mind weaving among the machines that are maintaining this link.

“Best anchor,” he says. “There are other risks. Mole holes remain resonant with the quantum foam. There’s always a risk of spontaneous eruption into macrocosmic space – one of the little bayshmun can pop up, snap something down and close again. That’s what happened to you.”

I am listening, and running a quick review of the Samothracian attack, through mole holes opening outside the Oort – far enough for the sun that the noncongruent ends aren’t pushed sideways in time by the warped space of the gravity well. As I thought – the metric has to be very flat. I wince; they came far too close to breaking us, out there. Heavy casualties, and the fabricators must be working overtime to replace those ships.

“The Race, the State and the Council of Directorates congratulate you,” he says. His mouth opens to show teeth, laughing at his own discomfort. “Planetary Archon Ingolfsson.”

I nod. Black shapes writhe and twist as they force themselves through the fabric of space-time. They spring free; I hear screams as the two-foot globes settle down over the equipment on the floor and then explode into hair-fine tendrils that lance into computers and control consoles. Part of it slams out further electronically with brutal virtual force into the humans’ primitive InfoWeb, investigating, tracing linkages, breaking through barriers and encryptions, seizing passwords and keys.

Out of the link, I send to Peter and Erin, and feel their shaken obedience. The diamond-hard sensation of military compinsets driven by a major AI brushes over the surface of my consciousness, the narrow focus of an enormously powerful quasi-mind designed for this one purpose as it analyzes the system, couples to it, and links through the mole hole to the Directorate of War’s machines.

Alexis nods and sinks back through the silvery surface. “Soon,” he says, shark-eager. “Good hunting.”

“Good hunting forever, all my brothers, all my sisters,” I whisper. 

Then I laugh as control finally snaps for a second, a long eager howl, throwing back my head and reaching for the sky with clawed fingers. Above me the new glass of the warehouse roof shimmers and ripples; the sound from without is beyond hearing this time, an endless ripping torrent of noise; and the flash is bright even through an upflung hand that shields my eyes. Involuntary tears blur my sight for an instant, and when I look again the silver circle around my modulator is gone… replaced in the sky above, vastly larger, like an artificial moon hanging over New York. 

A huge adamantine bulk is forcing its way through, twisting and changing as it emerges from the passageway between the worlds. It reformats into a blunt arrowhead shape two hundred meters long and a hundred across at its base, turning and banking as it curves out over the human city. I can hear the screaming as the crowds in the darkened city sight it, see the Drakon emblem blazoned across it in arrogant crimson.


	19. Chapter Nineteen

Chapter 19

**  
Peter and I have headaches; Gwen said it was due to the AI taking over our computer networks so fast, while we were hooked in, through our transducers. I feel numb as I kneel on the floor, watching Draka come and go, dressed in black uniforms or shifting suits of…what did Gwen call them…powered armor. That gives me the willies; that stuff moves like mercury with a mind of its own, I think, as a female drakensis stalks past me. Her eyes flick over me, appraising. I shiver, scooting closer to Peter.

“This is terrifying, Erin. Can’t we get out of here?” He whispers, not wanting to attract any of the Draka’s attention. Gwen’s busy, surrounded by a staff of military folks, directing, advising, commanding the deployment. There’s one guy in particular she seems to spend a lot of time talking to; I wonder who he is. They all look like siblings…

“No, she said for her Household staff to wait here, and she’d deal with us in a few moments.” The others have all been evacuated down to their bunk rooms, supervised by Vulk’s guards. The screams from outside have slowly quieted down; the first few moments, I thought I was having a nightmare. When those ships came through, bat-winged against the night sky…

Alice gets up slowly, looking around. A drakensis snarls at her, then checks himself, as he sniffs. He’s taking her scent, I realize, and shudder again. These Draka act much less human than Gwen does; either she’s a good actress or she has a lot more control than these guys, I wonder. Get up, Erin, and go with her; you probably need a break, too. Take Ruthann, too, speaks Gwen’s voice in my head. 

I jump, still not quite used to having the transducer; the sensation of someone speaking inside your head is really eerie. I nod, and then remember how to reply, and the right inflection. Yes, Muhmis, I send, your will. And thanks.

“Come on, Ruthann, come with us. We’re taking a bit of a break. You can grab something to eat, or drink. Let’s go, Alice!” I tug at Ruthann’s sleeve; she’s staring, open-mouthed at the Draka male who noticed Alice getting up. His white-blond mane is tied in a club-braid, slung over a shoulder, and his piercing blue eyes drink her in. He licks his lips, and turns slightly toward Gwen, a question on his face.

Take her on a break now, or I’ll let Gunnar take her another way, wench. Don’t bother me again, whip-snaps Gwen’s voice in my head, and I wince. This way, you not only get inflections but a visceral feeling along with the words, and this feeling isn’t so much fun. “Come on, goofy. Stop staring; it’s impolite and might get you more than you want.” 

I drag her behind me, following Alice through the steel doors. We walk down a long hallway to the break room, well set-up with couches, tables, a small kitchen with a staff. The metal shutters are securely locked down over the picture windows; it’s like being back on board the Nimitz, I think to myself, and shiver, goose bumps rising. Old ghosts chuckle soundlessly in my head, and the tiny voice that’s always there whispers: What have you done, fool?

Oh, shut up, already, I savagely say to myself, frowning. I’m tired, I’m scared, and I have to pee. Leave me the hell alone. I let go of Ruthann’s arm, and she rubs it, looking hard at me.

“Hey, he was cute…why’d you drag me like that?” Her pretty mouth pouts, eyes snapping adolescent fury at me.

“He’s a Draka; they may be handsome or beautiful, but you’ll get a hell of a lot more than you bargained for if you make eyes at another one. Gwen said for me to take you on a break before she let him take you some other way. Sound fun? I don’t think you’d like it much. They’re all hyped up for combat, so it wouldn’t be…” I search for the right word. “…romantic.”

“Erin’s right, you silly sheila. You need to stick close to us, and do what we say for a bit. I know it seems silly, but he’s not your typical cute dude. Remember, they’re not used to humans, and we’re only used to one Draka, Muhmis Gwen. Come sit by me, and have a soda.” Alice pats the seat by her, and Ruthann sulkily obeys, still frowning.

“But Muhmis wouldn’t let anyone hurt me, would she?”

“She wouldn’t, if she had time to pay attention. She’s too damn busy now. Just stay out of trouble, kiddo. Things will calm down soon enough.” I long for a beer, something to quell the anxiety roiling within my chest. I settle for a Dr. Pepper, and sip it slowly. 

“Hungry, donna? We can fix y’uns sometin’ to eat, real quick.” The Haitian cook smiles whitely, but the strain of the past couple of hours shows clearly on her face. She could use something to do, even though I’m not hungry, I think, and nod. 

“What would you like, Mesdames?” Her lilting island accent is reassuring here in all the strangeness, and I feel a burst of hope. Good people make it through, somehow. We will. 

“I’ll have a salad, and maybe half a sandwich. Do you have any roast beef?” I remember that’s what we all had for dinner last night, and joking with Gwen about how rare her piece was. It doesn’t seem so funny now, after hearing her howl, and seeing her face, all angles and planes, as the ships came through.

“Certainment. Et vous, mademoiselles?” 

Alice looks blank for a moment, and then laughs. We’re all reverting to our native languages under the stress. “Roast beef sounds ducky, love. I’ll have the same, and some coffee. How about you, sport?”

“I don’t want anything.”

“Oh, come on, Ruthann, you haven’t eaten anything since breakfast. What’d you like? How about a milkshake?” I smile at her, trying to get past the adolescent bull-headedness. She glares back, still mad at me.

“It’ll just make me fat. I’m not hungry. Leave me alone, Miss Bossy. Just ‘cause you’re Gwen’s favorite—”

“Hey, whoah, Nellie. Back off, chick. We’re all uptight; no need to get surly. I think that’s it, ma’am; two sandwiches and two salads, and coffee. Fang-tooth here can decide what she wants in her own good time.” I try to joke, but tears rise unbidden to my eyes, and I blink them away. That hurt.

I see Alice give Ruthann a warning nudge, and she frowns at the young woman. Ruthann looks over at me, then down at the table, blushing. The cook bobs her head, smiling, and ruffles Ruthann’s hair affectionately. The girl stiffens, tossing her head back. “Quit, already.”

“Oh, the little missy is so nervous, mademoiselles. I bring her a treat, make her stomach be friendly.” The cook walks off, chuckling. Ruthann sighs, and makes a point of fixing her hair back the way it was. Alice and I exchange a glance, and grin. The sandwiches arrive, superb as usual, and I wolf mine down.

“I wonder how the babies are doing? It’s getting close to feeding time, kiddo,” Alice says, over her coffee cup. I nod, feeling the increased pressure in my breasts, the urge to feed Patrick becoming more intense.

“Let’s go check on them in the nursery. Coming, Ruthann?”

She huffs, and covers her empty plate with her napkin. Somehow, an appetite reared its head for her when the cook brought out a piece of homemade apple pie a la mode, and some milk. “I guess.”

“Ah, the terrors of adolescence…remember, Alice?” I laugh, and then wince, both at my own memories of the beatings I received from my parents and Alice’s abuse at the hands of her demented aunt and uncle. Alice links her arm in mine, and pinches my fingers in a tight squeeze.

“Let’s hope our kids have a better one, old girl! Come on, let’s go find the hungry critters before I spring a leak!”

The children are safe and sound in the nursery, with Marie Claire and two other girls to watch them. Alexandra coos as Alice walks over to her, and two chubby hands stick straight up, waving. “I know someone who’s hungry,” croons Alice, cradling the baby and opening her blouse.

“Yes, and I know someone else, too,” I reply, and sit in a rocking chair to nurse my son. He’s hungrily nuzzling me, and it doesn’t take him long to hook up. “Yeah, underway fueling going on—no smoking on deck,” I laugh. 

Ruthann grimaces somewhat as she watches us, and goes over to the play area, plopping down by the toys, idly spinning a wheel with brightly colored blocks of plastic enclosed in it. 

“What’s gotten into Miss Personality, Alice? Jeeze—she’s turning into Attila the Hun-ess.” My face smiles, but my eyes are serious. It’s starting to bug me.

“Oh, cobber, she’s just trying to cope. She’s scared, it doesn’t feel…safe, so she gets angry and defensive. Try to understand. She’ll get over it, soon enough. She’s a great kid.” Alice shifts Alexandra from one breast to the other, sighing with contentment.

Patrick hiccups, and rubs his eyes with pudgy fists. “Sleepy, already, sailor? Okay. Let’s blow ballast, so you’ll float well into sleepy-time.” I lift him to a shoulder, and pat him gently. A surprisingly loud belch erupts, and all of us laugh, even Ruthann, at his wide-eyed look. “Hey, that cleared out just about everything, swabbie—you okay?” I check him over, and he looks fine, sleepy but happy.

Marie Claire takes him from my arms, as always giving me a twinge of regret at letting him go, and she carefully places him down in his crib, covering him with a blanket. “He’ll sleep well, now, donna!”

“I hope so.” I re-button my shirt, and run my hands through my hair. Alice is still nursing Alexandra, who’s a big eater. Ruthann walks over by us, and strokes Alexandra’s thick red mop of hair, running her hands softly through the curls. “She sure is pretty, Alice. And so is Patrick…I mean, he’s handsome.”

“Either way, they’re both good-looking babes. Thanks,” I say, stretching as I stand. My muscles are tired, from the stress and from the long day. This is a welcome break from all the weirdness, and I’m reluctant to return. “Right, Alice?”

“Yeah! Look at those eyes. Hmm-mmmh.” Alice lifts the drakensis infant to a shoulder and burps her gently. “And Patrick will be stunning, with your eyes and Peter’s hair, girl. You’ll be beating them off with a stick when he turns into a terrible teen!”

“Oho! Just what I’m looking forward to…” I do a set of pushups, noticing with pleasure how the definition is visible in my upper arms. “Maybe I’ll make Peter responsible for the stick-beating detail!”

“You wouldn’t!” Ruthann’s eyes are full of tears. “No way!”

“Oh, kid, hey, come on—not beating, like in punishment—beating as in chasing off girlfriends or boyfriends. Silly!”

“Boyfriends? But he’s a boy…” She looks confused now.

“Hey, I have no idea what his orientation will be; he could be anywhere from totally straight to in between to totally gay. That’s up for him to figure out, when the hormones hit. That’s when I figured it out. I’m not going to prejudice him either way, frankly.” I stand, and watch the conflicting emotions cross her face: frustration, recognition of a new idea. “It’s partly a matter of environment, but a lot of it’s hardwired in, Ruthann. Or at least that’s my theory.”

Alice has bedded Alexandra down, and we stand together, her arm over my shoulders, looking down at our infants as they drift off into sleep and sweet dreams. “I hope they have a great childhood, Alice. It’s going to be a hell of a lot different for them growing up, that’s for sure. And she’s a special case, anyway…”

“You’re right there. They’ll probably think we’re a couple of crusty old dinosaurs, Erin!” She laughs, a clear, appealing sound. Alice’s become close to me in the past few months, and I’m enjoying it. Most of my close friends have been guys, for some reason, and having her and Shawonda around to talk girly things with has been a great deal of fun. I hug her back, arm around her trim waist.

She surprises me by leaning into me and kissing me, long and hard. 

“Wow! Hey!”

“Eeeuuww…mushy stuff. Ick. I’m going back to the—”

“How’s everything, ladies?” Gwen stands in the doorway, hands on hips, smiling at our startled demeanors.

“Just fine, Muhmis,” I manage, and grin at her. I know she sees I’m blushing, and it makes me blush worse. I’m a match to Alice, who’s still holding me, but who’s turning cherry red and chuckling.

“I came to see how your break was coming. We have a brief window to relax in, as the orbital battle stations take position. No major resistance yet; some hysteria in the streets, though. We’re safe in here, Ruthann. It’s all right,” Gwen reassures the teen with a gentle hug. I catch a wave of comfort/approval from her, spiced a bit with arousal…I’ve gotten quite good at reading her scents, when I can notice them, I realize.

Alice disengages her arms from around me, and walks over to Gwen. “Thanks for coming to check on us, Muhmis. I know you’re incredibly busy…”

Muhmis ruffles Alice’s thick blonde hair gently, and smiles. “That’s fine. Say, why don’t you and Ruthann join Peter and Tom and the others in the break room? I’d like to talk with Erin for a few moments, alone.”

“Yes, Muhmis,” Alice bows, and links hands with Ruthann, who’s looking up at Gwen with hero-worship in her bright eyes. “Come on, cobber, let’s go…”

After they leave, Gwen signs for me to join her on a couch along one wall; Marie Claire discretely takes her two assistants to the other end of the large nursery, busying them with something. “Yes, Muhmis?”

“How are you doing?”

“What do you mean—the babies, or all this, or the Project---”

“The completion of the Project. I’m interested in your reactions; from you I can gauge what the others must be dealing with. How do you feel?”

“Um…sort of scared, especially of the other Draka. Are all of them that… intimidating?”

“Yes. On top of that, our combat pheromones and hormones are high right now, so we are a bit more… alarming that we would be at the poolside or something, Erin. Nothing to be too frightened of, since you’re mine, and I’m now Planetary Archon.” She wolf-grins at that, and I catch the power harmonics in her voice. That’s important, I think silently to myself, she wasn’t sure that she would be, but now she knows…

“You’re not so scary, at least most of the time.” I smile up at her, looking at the deeply tanned, beautiful face above me, the leaf-green eyes holding so much knowledge, so much power, hunger…

“No…I try not to be. It can be a …strain…at times, I can tell you!” She laughs, and the babies stir. “Ah, have to keep my voice down; I forgot they’re sleeping. How are they doing, by the way?”

“Fine. Alexandra’s always hungry, when she’s not sleeping. Patrick’s a happy baby; it’s a good thing he doesn’t need as much as Alexandra; Alice likes it sometimes when I help her out in the dairy department,” I reply, snuggling against the warmth of my Muhmis. “I think Alice and I are becoming very dear friends, Gwen.”

“Good. I really am glad of that; you’ll be invaluable help to each other. When the dust settles, as you damnyanks say, we’ll go on a vacation, to the PrimeLine. I’ll show you the Luna colonies, Mars…my ranch near what’s called La Jolla, here…I raise horses there. Wonderful sailing, too…sound fun?”

“Oh, yes—we’ll really get to go to the Moon, Muhmis? That’s always been a dream of mine; I told you that, the first night we…well, you know…” I stutter to a stop, feeling her hands stroking down my sides. She kisses me, tonguing me lightly.

“Mmh-hmmm.” The kiss grows more intense, and her hands unbutton my shirt. “I remember that night, quite well, actually…”

“Uh, Muhmis…please…it’s not…ah…very…ummm…private…”

“And?” Her hands slip my jeans down, and slide me onto her lap, straddling her. Her mouth finds my breasts, and I arch my back in pleasure. “You had something to say, Erin?”

“Uhhnnn…please…more…Muhmis!”

Afterwards, I clean her, as I’ve learned to do; actually I’m quite used to it now. She sighs contentedly, and strokes a finger down the side of my face. “I needed that, my pretty pony…now I can focus better on things that need to be done…you are quite a talented pretty-girl, you know that? Fast learner, creative…” She chuckles, and stands me on my feet. Planting a resounding kiss on my forehead, she gestures toward her clothes. “Dress me.”

I obey her, and then dress myself. The nannies have decided to take a bit of a stroll outside; I think that happened when Gwen made me scream with pleasure the first time, or maybe the second. I really wasn’t paying much attention. The babies complained, a bit, but settled right back down, and I managed to muffle the rest of my exclamations… 

Dressed, we walk out into the hallway, and Gwen gives Marie Claire a playful pinch on the fanny as we walk by. I feel great; I hadn’t realized how tense I really was until Gwen began trailing her fingertips down my back, feather-light, barely touching my skin…the memory of the recent exchange brings goose bumps up, and Gwen whispers in my ear:

“Glad to see everything is back in order,” as she caresses a nipple. I shiver with delight, and turn rosy-red. She pinches, ever so lightly, and then purrs softly into my ear again. “Hmm…you may have to change shirts…I think I got you a bit…wet. But you are so delicious, my kitten…”

I glance down, and see that I’ve become noticeably…damp…across the front of my shirt. “Ah… yes, I think I’ll have to change, Gwen. May I go to my quarters?’ I grin at her, my hand on hers as it caresses my left breast.

“Yes, run along. When you’re done, come down to the main conference room. I’ll want all of you there, the staff. I’ll alert the others. Ten minutes?”

“Okay, Muhmis. Be right back.”

**  
The meeting Gwen held with her staff was interesting, I think, as I gather notes and papers, cleaning up my desk area in the operations room. I remember:

She strides in, her green eyes glittering, and a silence falls:

“Good evening. I wanted to have this little meeting, to get some things perfectly clear, and answer any questions you may have. At this point in the Arrival,” she pauses, looking each of us over slowly, “your tasks are essentially done for the Project. We’ll go into Phase Two, for you staff members and Household members with responsibilities covered by those instructions.”

“The rest of you,” she continues, “will basically go on doing the same things you’ve been doing: guarding, serving, cooking…there will be some schedule alterations, but senior staff members will notify you of these as they arise.”

Her lithe form paces, tiger-tense, across the podium, back and forth. She thinks for a moment, and then cocks her head at me. I’ve triggered my transducer, saying, Muhmis…maybe some reassurance we won’t be human a la king anytime soon? People are…wondering.

“Hmm…all right. As far as your safety is concerned, obey my orders, do your jobs, and you won’t be… bothered. Disobey, or be somewhere you’re not authorized to be, and things may happen you won’t really enjoy. We aren’t going to eat you, though; please put that thought away and focus on your jobs. That’s what I expect of you, all of you. Clear?”

The room murmurs yes, everyone’s eyes on her. “Good. My senior staff—Household members; I want to meet with you for a few moments. Everyone else has a good idea of their responsibilities? Any questions?”

One man raises his hand, shyly. “Um, ma’am?”

“Yes, Rogers?” Her focused, direct look makes him shake and sweat glistens on his balding head, but he bears up well. He's one of the financial people she brought on board with Jennifer. She’s sitting quietly, eyes huge, by some of her people, arms crossed.

“Ah, will our families be…okay? Can we bring them…here?”

“No, that’s not necessary. Your families will be fine; you may get some time off here in the next few hours, and a few of you may go out to reassure your kinfolk. Tell them to stay at home, and not to gather in any of the crowds. That could be… dangerous. Otherwise, they’ll be fine. Power should be up within a few hours, especially as our systems come on line, and you can call them from here.” She smiles, reassuringly, and goes on: 

“There’s really not enough room, here; the Draka personnel will be sleeping here for a bit, until we establish outposts that are secure, and we’re already somewhat crowded with all the support personnel. No, the family units don’t need to come here. You’ll be able to go to them, soon enough.”

She looks over the room again. “Any more questions? If you do think of some, I’m sure my Household staffers will be able to provide you with the information you’re requesting, once I brief them. Everyone, I am very pleased. More than you can imagine. The teamwork was quite impressive, and I thank you all, every one. Good work. I’m proud of you.” Her smile grows, and I feel the warmth of her words washing over me, and I feel good, more relaxed. I notice the group is relaxing, and I see more smiles, grins, a few back slaps.

My eyes rest on Jennifer, and she looks back at me, seriously. I mouth, “Okay?” at her, and she nods, slowly. Her brown eyes seem huge. As the crowd breaks up, people going to their various postings, I walk quickly over to her. She may get on my nerves, but she’s really a sweet gal. Just a little abrasive at times, I think, as I approach her.

“Hey, you feeling okay?”

“Yes. I’m fine.” Her voice wavers for a moment, and I seize the initiative, enfolding her in a hug. She stiffens at first, and then relaxes, sniffling. “It’s so… so… overwhelming…and Gwen was…when she took me and you, earlier…my God, she was…”

“I know. She can be…intense. That’s why it was better there were two of us, chicklet. I’ve learned these things; you will, too. It’s okay. It’ll be okay, Jenny. Shhh…”

Gwen approaches us, and sees that Jenny’s crying. Muhmis raises one eyebrow inquiringly, and I make a little waving motion with my hand. She nods, and speaks to me via transducer: Meet us in the executive meeting room, five minutes. Bring her, too, if she’s calm enough. Does she need sedation?

No, I don’t think so, Muhmis…I answer back, and she nods, smiling slightly. Alice and Tom come up to her, pieces of paper in their hands, and she turns away, busy. I pat Jennifer slowly on the back, letting her sniffles die down.

The room clears out, and I loosen my grip. Gwen’s gone on into the board room, and I know not to be late. Mueller’s been passing out sedatives left and right, and quite a few people are popping them down, but I think Jennifer has enough self-control to get a grip on her tears. “Hey, girl, don’t want to be late to the meeting, right?”

“Oh, I’m invited? Ach, my mascara has run, dammit…you wouldn’t have a makeup first aid kit, would you?”

“Nope. Sorry,” I grin, and let her go. She sighs and reaches for her purse.

“I’ll be right there. I need to fix my face. I look like a Georgia raccoon…” A smile’s in her voice.

“Nah…your tail ain’t bushy enough…close, though…” I laugh, patting her on the back. “The meeting’s due to start in about three minutes. Time enough?”

“Yeah, be right there. Wait for me?”

“Sure, Jenny.” As she darts into the restroom, I think, hey, maybe the ice is broken, finally. That would be nice. We just have to get to know each other; we’re very different, but we have a lot of similarities, too. She’s not a bad kid, for a Yankee.

We walk into the meeting room together; Peter has saved me a seat next to him, and Jennifer sits next to Alice, across the table from me. She smiles tremulously at me, and Gwen clears her throat. All eyes shift to her, and we wait to see what we Inner Circle will learn as the Arrival begins.

**  
I have an excellent view of the Presidential command room, far below the White House. The War Directorate InfoSpear has their systems under thorough command, though they don’t know it yet, and there are plenty of vid and audio pickups there.

The human leader’s tired and still a little fuzzy from being awoken, a tall long-faced man around sixty, with graying brown hair and worried blue eyes.

“—EMP but no nuclear weapon,” a human male in uniform is explaining to him. “I repeat, Mr. President, there was no nuclear weapon. We’ve got Guard and regular units moving into the area; something just burned the hell out of all the unshielded electronics, but communications should be back up soon and Con Ed says they can have power back on within the hour..

The President nods and begins to speak. “And then maybe we can make some sense of the damned crazy reports –”

“Excuse me,” I interrupt.

Every eye in that room flashes to the monitor that shows my image. I know what they see; I’m in a suit of battle armor, with my face and hands showing, standing with my hands on my hips.

“Who the hell is that?” a man in a suit barks. He dives for phones and computers. “Who the hell is that, this is supposed to be a secure system!”

I laugh. “Nothing is secure from us,” I say, and hold up a hand. “Just to save a lot of useless talk, go outside and look up over your White House. Do it. I’ll give you ten minutes.”

I blank the circuit and laugh again. We’re working from a large conference room in my New York headquarters; Erin, Peter, Alice, Tom and a few other humans are huddled in a corner, variations on fear, awe and exhilaration on their faces. Ruthann and Alice hug each other for comfort, and so do Erin and Peter; Tom’s elaborately unconcerned, until you take his scent. A War Directorate technician’s working with some equipment in a corner, and there’s a ghouloon standing outside the door; a holo image of the White House is over . Tamirindus Rohm opens her eyes and drops out of link; Tolya Mkenni d’Govvin is beside her, and I can subliminally sense her delicate precision as she monitors the mole hole.

“Everything’s fine so far,” Tamirindus says. “We’ve shut the mole hole down to micro scale, just enough for communications and a secure anchor-link.”

“I don’t suppose we can get another?” I say.

“Permission,” Tolya says, shaking away from her trance. She continues at the Draka nods: “Overlord, Uhmis, mole holes on this scale are violently dangerous. Not in themselves, we’ve gotten the control fairly secure, but in the resonances they set up in the quantum foam. It turns out that the nanoscale mole holes down there continuously link different timelines, mostly ones so close together that they’re not really separate. When we pump one up and line it with para-matter, it sets up a… harmonic. Put two too close together joining the same event-frameworks – the same timelines -- and the possibility of a mole hole spontaneously cycling up to macrocosmic level becomes… very high.”

“Hmmm,” I say, pondering the implications. That’ll limit paratemporal transport, even more than the energy costs. And we’ll have to stage through other timelines, never putting more than a few mole holes on any one of them.

“Tom, Alice, Dolores, Erin, Peter,” I say. “Meet Tamirindus Rohm, Legate in the Directorate of Technics, and Tolya d’Govvin.”

“D’Rohm,” Tamirindus smiles. “I acquired the family – easier, with this project, to have them close at hand.”

“Congratulations,” I say. She must have re-climbed the greasy pole of status fairly quickly, to get authorization to claim a noted physicist. I remember her children, Tomin and Mala, too; charming teenagers, and I took them both that night before the accident.

The humans come and make their submissions to Tamirindus, curious nods to Tolya – she’s the first servus they’ve ever seen, of course, and they the first humans. I hear from their subvocalizations how surprised they are at the resemblance between me and the other Draka; it would be startling, to those who’ve never seen more than one of the Race before. Tamirindus is slightly shorter than me, her hair a brighter copper-blond; otherwise, to human eyes, we could be sisters. The War Directorate tech might be a cousin, his white-blond hair clubbed into a fighting braid like mine and hers…

Tamirindus looks the humans over. “Nice lot, given the random genetics here,” she says. All of them can follow Talk well enough. Her nostrils flare a little. “Ah, the blond wench is brooder to you? Clone?”

I nod. “They’ve all been… extremely useful,” I say. “Invaluable. She was a backup, but Alexandra’s a fine little girl anyway. I’m a clone myself, of course…”

“Well done,” Tamirindus says to them, and scents of approval; I add mine to the dose, and the humans’ eyes go a little wider at the strength of the reinforced pheromonal signal. “They’re a pretty lot, too, in a sort of chaotic way,” she says, with a considering note in her voice “How are they as mounts?”

“Often excellent; usually needing some training, but first-rate once properly instructed,” I say. “Bit different from servus, though.” I turn my head a little. “Dolores, you’ll serve this Uhmis tonight.” 

Tamirindus gives a slow grin, looking the Columbian over. “Ah, thank you, Planetary Archon… Gwen. I was looking forward to sampling the locals; humans were long gone when I was born.”

As well to make a hospitable gesture; there haven’t been any status considerations between me and Tamirindus before, and it’s as well to keep things thoroughly friendly now that she’ll be working to my direction. Dolores looks a little startled, then smiles shyly and bobs her head in acknowledgement.

“Let’s get back to it,” I say. “Positions, everyone.”

This time the pickup is from what they call the Oval Office. The human leader’s face looks different as well, stunned, incredulous. I flick my eyes sideways for an instant at the holo of the weapons platform that is hovering a hundred meters over the White House. It was in arrowhead shape while it plunged down hypersonic from orbit, laying a shockwave across Washington loud enough to shatter glass. I’d instructed the pilot to reformat his ship into a flattened disk several hundred yards across as he hovered, though. I chuckle at the meanings associated with that shape here…

“Who are you?” the human whispers.

“We are the Domination of the Draka,” I say.

“Aliens?”

“Not exactly. We’re… descended from humans. Post human. Not from another star system, but from another branch on the tree of time, a… parallel world. You’re familiar with the concept?”

He sits immobile for a long minute, sweat rolling down his face. One of the advisors behind him begins to shout incoherently, and is subdued and led away.

“Yes,” he says at last. “My children, they read science fiction.”

“This is all too factual,” I say cheerfully. “The disturbances over New York were our breakthrough. Our; I personally have been here for four years, ah, casing the joint, I believe you might say. Now we have a permanent large-scale link via mole hole. Your scientists call them wormholes…”

His voice gains strength; this is a brave man. “Why are you here?”

“To conquer,” I say, gripping his eyes with my own. Not too difficult, even in this bloodless simulacrum of contact, without scent. “And to rule. This planet and your species are now under the Yoke. Submit and live. Resist and die.”

That brings uproar on the other end of the link; a uniformed aide dashes out of the room, returns with a locked case. I laugh, soft and savage.

“Ah, the notorious ‘football’,” I say. “Don’t bother. Here are the launch codes.”

I trigger a subroutine, and what they thought was top-secret information scrolls across the monitor they’re viewing. A general swears softly, scatology and blasphemy, checking off alphanumeric codes against those inside the hastily-opened case.

“Irrelevant in any case,” I say. “We have complete control of your net – our computers are four hundred years in advance of yours.” Another general tugs at the President’s sleeve. “That wench there is about to tell you that one of your Minuteman silos in Montana has just started a launch,” I add. “Don’t worry, we’ve reprogrammed it to impact on the North Pole. We could, of course, launch them all at targets of our choice.”

I sit, lean back in the chair, rest my elbows on its arms and steeple my fingers. “And even if you had control of your weapons systems, it would be meaningless,” I go on into their stunned silence. “Think of Australian Aborigines with wooden spears confronted with helicopter gunships and M1 tanks. The gap is roughly comparable.”

More silence from most of the humans on the other end, with some rapid-fire muttering among the uniformed ones, and a few in suits – those will be the military and security personnel, checking on my claims.

One advisor leans forward into my field of view; an aged beaky face, intelligent brown eyes. “Excuse me, but are you not the Gwendolyn Ingolfsson the NSA has been dealing with?”

“The same,” I say. That was quick of him. 

“Much is explained,” he murmurs, then goes on to me: “Yet… pardon me… is conquest really an economically viable strategy at your level of development? I am surprised.”

“Economics has little to do with it, Professor Blomberg,” I say. “Consider it a genetic and cultural imperative. Territorial, as well. Our status game uses different markers from yours, not money for the most part… in fact, you are the markers in our game. That’s an oversimplification, of course. I’ll be interested in talking more with you at a later date, but for now, let’s get down to practicalities.”

By this time the President’s staff have confirmed my words to him – if the weapons platform floating over his head weren’t confirmation enough. I outline other proofs, demonstrations, invite them to take a shot at a platform with their most powerful nuclear antiaircraft weapons, in a suitably remote place.

“What are your terms?” the President says at last, his face gray, hands shaking.

“Essentially, absolute and unconditional surrender,” I say, cat-smiling. “I’m going to be in contact with the other major world leaders for the rest of the day, and you’ll all be summoned here to New York to hear the public announcement in 48 hours – the UN building will be appropriate, I think. In the meantime, you will instruct your civil and military structures to cooperate fully. And I suggest you declare a state of emergency, to prevent panic.”

Slowly, as if a hand were forcing him to move, he nods.

**  
Sitting there, listening to the raw power in Gwen’s voice, the hunger, the dominance, I’m struck by the force of it. Worries rise to the surface, long buried safely out of range, and I shiver, as Peter hugs me for comfort. Oh, Jeeze, what have we unleashed? I’ve never seen the President look like that, and that staff person went loopy, I think…man. This is…overwhelming, terrifying. It’s real; I can’t deny the truth anymore. The sheer reality of the situation chills me, makes me feel queasy.

“You okay, Erin?” Peter’s concerned voice cuts through my thoughts and I tuck my head under his chin. We must look like a bunch of little scared monkeys to Gwen and the other Draka; I wonder if that’s how they see us, really…

“Yeah. I’m…okay. You?”

He laughs softly, hollowly. “I’ve never been really happy about any of this weird shit, and now this? But I’m okay, don’t need any of Herr Doktor’s miracle happy pills. I’m a queen; I can take it. Just want to look good, that’s all…”

He squeezes me, and I feel a rush of love for him, for his courage, his humor. This may be the last moments of the world we knew, and the opening of a brave new one, and Peter’s what I need to get through this. I relax as much as I can, leaning against his long, muscled body, hearing his heartbeat, his steady breathing.

The other Draka still scare the living hell out of me, and I try to stay as far away as I can from them. Tamarindus Rohm, the one Gwen introduced us to…and lent Dolores to, I remember…seems like the nicest of the lot, but she’s still scary. 

The servus woman, Tolya d’Rohm, seems like she’s nice enough. I was surprised that she looked so…regular. Pretty, intelligent, takes good care of herself obviously; looks to be about in her late twenties…But she doesn’t look as intimidating as the Draka. The ghouloons, on the other hand, are… simply awful looking. I remember my dream, the one that scared me so bad when Gwen and I were on the business trip up here, and the ghouloon looks just the same in real life. God, how could they make something that looks like that? Jeeze…

Gwen really gives it to the President; not much variation on what she tells the other heads of state, after him. It shocks them all, down to the core. I hope no one decides to go wacky and set off all their bombs for the sheer hell of it. That wouldn’t be very much fun, I think to myself, and chuckle.

“What’s so funny, Chuckles?” Peter leans his head down next to mine, and Alice looks over Ruthann’s head at me, a question in her eyes.

“Ah, I was just thinking…hope no one decides to do a ‘the hell with it, if I’m going, I’m taking all of you to hell with me’ type thing. That wouldn’t be…fun.” I smile at him, and at Alice, whose eyes widen in horror.

“We won’t let that happen, sweet. Don’t worry, we’re more in control than any of your human governments ever were,” says Gwen, standing in front of us. We look up into her face, and see amusement and seriousness fighting for supremacy in her eyes. Amusement wins, and she puts her hand on Peter’s head, slowly caressing his thick black hair. “You’re safe.”

**  
“Why is it everything has to hurry and then there’s nothing to do and we sit around waiting?” Jennifer says fretfully. They’re over at the other end of the lounge; I hear them as I come in, and send Shawonda on her way with a playful swat on the bottom. 

“Go on with whatever you’re doing,” I say, seating myself and dropping into transducer link. “I’m busy.” In fact, I’m just waiting, too, I think.

I just had a little conference with the Draka personnel here; essentially, giving them all my new humans-aren’t-servus-don’t-spook-them-yet speech. It went down reasonably well; a lot of aggressive young drakensis here right now, but I’m a figure of awe to them, more than I realized. I’m of the First, of course, and I was Archon for a good long while… more, I’ve just given the Race an entire new planet, the opportunity to conquer it twice, and in their lifetimes. Instant legend status; and with awe comes sensible fear, in our species. The problem is that I’d forgotten a little how stressful it could be, arguing with my own kind; amazing how quickly that happens. The hormones in there were enough to fry a human’s brains at times, and enough to make me feel tired, even though I got a full four hours sleep last night.

Nothing much is happening; the humans are conferencing with each other at a ferocious rate, but after we landed a kinetic energy bomb on that missile site in Lop Nor, the one the Chinese used to try and attack one of the orbital stations, they’re obeying. The first heads of state are already arriving in New York, and the city’s getting back to normal, power and communications on and the crowds dispersed by the soldiers the US government has sent in.

Their media are going completely wild, of course, particularly in countries like this without much government control. We’ll have to do something about that…

Erin laughs, continuing her conversation with Jennifer. “Oh, boy, I can tell you were never in the military,” she says.

Jennifer bristles, then sighs. “You know, my brother Joshua said exactly the same thing.”

“You had a brother?” Erin says, surprised. She still hasn’t learned to use her transducer for ordinary things like accessing personnel files, or doesn’t care to. “He was in the service?”

“First Armored Cavalry,” Jennifer says with a touch of melancholy pride. “He was a lot older than me… I was about six when he died.”

“Vietnam?” Erin says softly, and pats her hand.

“Yeah. Cambodia – the Parrot’s Beak. He wrote me a letter just before it happened… sorry. It was a long time ago, I’m not usually such a watering pot.”

“Hey, I lost friends in the Gulf, close ones.”

They sit in silence for a while, and then Jennifer clears her throat. “Ah, Erin, could I ask you something?”

“Sure, girl. We’re on the same team.”

“Ah… you know, last evening…” I open my eyes slightly and see the heat of Jennifer’s blush. “It was, ah…”

Erin chuckles kindly. “Hey, a good time was had by all. That’s Gwen – Muhmis – for you.”

“Well, you’ve been with her a lot longer, and I was sort of wondering.” A inhaled breath. “You know, when we were, ummm, with her, I really wanted to, ah, touch you, you know. And vice versa, magic fingers you’ve got, I should talk… Anyway, now, well, you’re certainly good-looking and all but it’s not there anymore. For which frankly I’m thankful, because it made me feel strange.”

A laugh from Erin. “Oh, girl, I know exactly what you mean. With me, it’s when Muhmis decides to fold a man into the mix. Ordinarily, men just don’t do much for me; I don’t dislike them and they don’t make me queasy or anything, but it’s just not it. More like playing tennis than actual sex. When Gwen’s there, though, I do like that. And that felt strange as hell, let me tell you, girl. My friend Peter, he’s Patrick’s father…and that just would never have happened without Muhmis, believe me, not without plastic and rubber. He couldn’t; not just no interest, no capacity.”

“Strange.” A shy smile. “But… well, I really don’t mind, thinking back on it.”

I sigh and stretch, get a cup of the awful coffee – not bad by local standards, but nobody here really understands coffee except the Turks, and then only their own kind – and sit down.

“Well, if you really want to know, I could fill you in,” I say.

They start a little, and Jennifer turns crimson. Erin is more relaxed; she’s more used to having little privacy – a concept not much used in the Domination, anyway.

“Uh… yes, Muhmis, I would,” the New Yorker says.

“Human beings are so variable,” I begin. “You can come in every variety from wired-from-birth stone straight… like you, pretty well, Jenny… to wired-from-birth stone queer, as I believe the expression is.” I look at Erin and smile. “Peter, in other words. And those can be due to genes – several different complexes, so that even identical twins aren’t identical – or things like fetal hormone fluctuations. And then people who are between those two extremes – you, for instance, Erin, although you’re a lot closer to Peter’s end of the ruler than Jennifer’s – can be nudged either way by behavioral conditioning, environment, at certain crucial stages in your upbringing; there are about four, running from infancy through adulthood if the potential’s there. Or extreme stress can redirect someone after full adulthood – you humans are so unstable, really. Drakensis and servus are all hard-wired 50-50… what’s your phrase? Switch-hitters. Apples and oranges to us.”

“Oh,” Erin says. “Uhmm, you were going to explain how you get us going and stuff? I know it’s pheromones, but…”

“Mostly pheromones, but drakensis bodies are also designed to hit subliminal visual and sound clues in your hindbrains,” I say. 

“You do look sort of… I don’t know… androgynous,” Jennifer says thoughtfully. “Which is crazy because you also look very male or female respectively.” She waves a hand in a twisting gesture. “Oy vey, do you!”

“The Ancestors did a very good job,” I say. “Ideology for them, biology for us… The pheromones do a lot of the work, of course, especially with extreme cases like Peter. They reach right back into the hypothalamus and limbic systems and… ah, fool them. A deep part of Peter’s brain perceives me as male, and an overwhelmingly attractive one; same for you, Jenny. Whereas Erin’s basic circuitry is more accurately perceiving me as female.” I grin at her blush. “Very, though, hmmm?” I chuck her under the chin. “That’s why she’ll change less.”

Jennifer’s coffee cup halts halfway to her lips. “Change?” she says, in a small voice. “Muhmis?”

“Well, yes. Prolonged sexual contact with a drakensis will… reprogram a human. The brain does retain the capacity to form new neural connections into adulthood, you know. That’s if the stimulus is counter to the previous pattern; so someone like Peter, who was stone gay, or Tom, who was mostly so, get gradually pushed towards reacting to women. And a woman who is quite straight, like Alice, or very straight, like you, Jenny, will be nudged neurologically towards bisexuality. It works faster on women, because they’re more behaviorally flexible to start with, and there are a lot of other factors – frequency of contact, of course, and the rewiring process goes faster for a female brooding a drakensis fetus because of other neurological changes which sort of shake up the brain anyway.” 

I smile at Erin. “You’re not getting nudged nearly as hard. If I were male, it would all be mirror-image to what I’ve said, of course.”

Jennifer goes pale and puts a hand to her throat. “You mean I’ll –”

I reach over and stroke her cheek. “Only if you want to, silly wench, as far as other humans are concerned. It’ll probably take about a year or two. Don’t think of it as being changed if that disturbs you; think of it as having a whole new world of possibilities opened up to you, which, when I’m not in the picture, you can sample or not as you please.”

A mental alarm rings, and I curse. “What now?” I say aloud to the air.

Archon, a Draka voice says in my mind. A submarine is attempting to launch nuclear missiles at New York.

Jennifer and Erin stiffen with dismay; I’ve let them into the circuit. “Well, crack the bloody thing,” I say. “That is standard operating procedure under the rules of engagement I laid down! I told you to refrain from unnecessary strikes, Merarch; I did not forbid you to respond to an attack!”

I sigh as they look at each other and relax. “Sometimes I think four hundred odd years of peace have crimped our initiative,” I say. “The younger generation…”

Jennifer laughs, and then chokes it back. “Share that with us, Jenny,” I say.

“It’s… no disrespect, but I never thought you’d remind me of my grandmother?”

“Your grandmother?” I say, disbelieving.

She hunches her shoulders, brings her palms up and waggles them; her accent thickens, and takes on a slightly different intonation, more singsong: “You young people today! You don’t know how rough we had it! I’m tellingk yu, grateful yu should be—”

The three of us share a laugh, and Alice chuckles at the sight as she comes in. “Alexandra’s sleeping,” she says through the grin. “You three care to tell me what’s so funny tonight?”


	20. Chapter Twenty

Chapter 20

The weapons platforms are circling overhead above the UN building, and the human leaders are kneeling; cameras take this to every human city and town, most villages. Their scent is fear like wine, throttled hatred, despair. I take a deep breath, fighting down exultation. I will take this world.

Domination  
Open to me, my saafn  
Open body, mind, and self  
Give me all that you are  
Give your soul and being  
Be one with me  
Taken  
Joyful  
Mute…

I nod to the Strategos beside me: Gunnar Glynnson, a young man, barely a century and a quarter, but he’s risen far. His scent is still more eager than mine. Your orders, Archon? He says via transducer. Are we to make an example of these cattle?

“No, no,” I chuckle. “We’ll have to do some more fireworks to impress the natives, but let’s not get carried away, Strategos Glynnson. Nothing excessive. Strike at a military installation. If we target these cattle, these civilians, they’ll merely panic and stampede.”

Silently: Think of it as mounting a young, timid buck or wench, not hunting a goblin pack, I go on. 

I’ve already taken a couple, he replies. I catch overtones in his transducer-voice, wide eyes and trembling mouths, pleasure, scents of sweat and fear and pheromone-induced ecstasy, pounding rut, a hand bending a human over a sofa by the nape of his neck. They’re certainly not properly trained in submission, but that can be rather interesting. Might get boring in the long run.

We laugh. Slowly, slowly, I chide him gently. Make the pleasure last. It isn’t often a whole planet kneels and asks our will. The laugher grows, a snarling chuckle that makes the humans within earshot shiver. Erin has been following the conversation, but she remains silent, smelling of muted fear.

There has been sporadic resistance, each act answered by hard, precise retaliation. Few have died in the last two days; a few thousand, almost all of them human military. That submarine, the base in Sinkiang, a few others. More have died in disorders; for some reason, the news seems to have motivated large numbers of them to go out in the streets and hit each other. The gods alone know why. Perhaps it’s that human inability to really believe what’s obviously true.

The sensors pick up the rasp of a weapon; one of the American President’s attendants, a uniformed one… Lieutenant-General, Air Force, my transducer supplies, at the sight of the uniform. What on earth does she think she’s going to do with that letter-opener? I wonder. A tight-held bulldog face, lined and full of determination – usually intelligence, too, from the looks. Stressed beyond control, I decide. What do the humans call it… psychotic break? In any case, she’s attempting to attack us. There is only one penalty for raising your hand to the Race.

“Goddamn you, you …you things…it’s not gonna happen, no way, not on my watch…” 

“They don’t learn very well, Planetary Archon Ingolfsson…may I?” Strategos Glynnson says.

I shrug. Cut this out of the broadcast loop, I say to the tech monitoring the human communications.

The ghouloon springs forward; they’re surprisingly quick, for all their bulk, and strong even by drakensis standards. Feral packs are the most dangerous predators on the Prime Line… after us, of course.

“Noooo---get away, damn yo-” her scream is cut off as the ghouloon’s teeth sink into her face, crushing bone and flesh with a sound like celery snapping. “Guuaaahhh—aaaiiiieeee…”

The kill is quick; I’m slightly impressed by the fact that the human didn’t run, even when the fangs rammed towards her face. The ghouloon rips the body apart and feeds; blood spatters, and the others watch with longing restrained by discipline.

This is the Domination, Erin subvocalizes. This is the Domination.

I look down and smile at Erin. “Erin, sorry. Bit excited. The others will be all right, for the moment. Wipe your face off, wench. It’s all right,” I continue, cupping her chin in my hand.

Aloud, my voice slams out over the speakers. “The punishment for resistance is death. Remember that. Obey, and you will live. Rise, humans, and enter the chamber to hear my will – the will of the Race. Make that will your own, and you will survive. Oppose it, and –” My head jerks towards the scattered body parts.

**  
“Erin.”

She looks up at me, eyes still wide with shock. I’m giving her a strong dose of comfort-approval, though, and it’s gradually taking effect; and she’s basically a sensible wench.

“That was unpleasant, but think of it this way. A human who attacks a Draka with a knife is terminally stupid, not brave – that’s like trying to wrestle an elephant. A human with a knife who attacks two Draka, Draka in powered infantry armor, with a weapons platform overhead and a squad of power-armored ghouloon troopers, is just too stupid to live. It does serve as an example, though. That one died, so that thousands of others won’t have to. Understand?”

She straightens up and squares her shoulders. “Yes, Muhmis.”

“And thousands more will live, this year, that would have died just as unpleasantly, at the hands of other humans, if we hadn’t come. Understand, Erin?”

Much calmer now. “Yes, Muhmis.”

“Good. And that would have been much more typical, if it hadn’t been for you and the others’ advice. Get cleaned up, and we’ll get on with this little dance.”

I walk out to the podium; the UN logo behind it has been replaced with the Drakon, glaring out over the great room. Order has been restored, and the heads of government and their staffs are waiting; they drop to their knees, the sound loud in a breathless hush. Every human in the room does, except the ones operating the crude human vid equipment. This image is going out world-wide; the orbital platforms are broadcasting it to areas that the local networks can’t reach. 

I force the snarling grin of a vast and savage triumph away from my face. The new-caught prey mustn’t be startled more than is necessary. They must be eased into submission, as much as possible; Alexis grumbled, but agreed to my policy. The Council of Directorates are cautious, patient individuals; their average age is pushing two hundred, and they wouldn’t have survived this long if they weren’t. Reckless, impatient Draka die before their first century is up. I’ve killed a dozen myself.

“Rise,” I say. There is a rustle as they take their seats. “You’ve all heard the preliminary announcements, the parallel worlds… something your own scientists had begun to suspect.” Not to mention their own lunatics. For amusement, I’ve been monitoring the local media; CNN, the others. There’s a huge crowd outside in the streets; some of them are carrying signs reading WELCOME VISITORS. Humans, I think, chuckling silently. They always manage to surprise you; or at least get a laugh. Others read SAVE US and DRAKA GO HOME, with plenty of variations on the same themes – and hot dog and pretzel vendors are doing a roaring business around the edges. That’s the New York I came to know! I think. Perhaps I can preserve a little of that. It’s amusing.

A dozen religious cults are worshipping us; more have decided we’re Satan incarnate. For the moment, let them. 

“Let me make the situation quite clear. Contact has been established between this… timeline, and my own, the Prime Line. This world, this line is now under the Domination of the Draka; which is to say, us. Resistance,” I go on, again forcing a smile off my face – this time one of genuine amusement, since Peter and Erin are both fond of Star Trek “—is futile.” Prepare to be dominated, I do not add. The thought sends a shiver through me, through my gut and loins.

I command through my transducer, and the vast wall behind me flashes into a holo of what happened outside.

“There have been a number of incidents like this; far too many. I want no more of them.” My voice becomes a lash, and I see the humans cower under it.

“Understand this to begin with. The Race – the Draka – possess a power against which your entire world is utterly helpless. Watch.”

The view switches to fields in North Dakota and Kazakhstan. There is a flicker from above, and the armored doors of the missile silos explode outward in a gout of pale fire. The beams play over the ground around them, eating into rock and soil, and the dust that rises explodes again as it drifts into their ravening vortex. The view skips back, and an artificial hurricane towers on the horizon. Other scenes show fighter aircraft subliming into vapor in their revetments, tanks exploding behind running crewmen.

“We have two orbital battle stations covering this planet now. Those are particle beams; and our scanners are good enough to distinguish individual faces from orbit through night and cloud, and strike anywhere. Nothing you can do will harm them. Watch.”

A weapons platform floating over the northern Atlantic, gray-blue sea heaving below. “This was by invitation, to demonstrate that which you need to know.”

A human airplane streaking towards the weapons platform, then peeling away. A rocket flare, arching towards the distant target. Then a blink of white light, and the globe of the fireball. When it dies, the platform is slowing, stopping again. The view snaps close, showing the featureless surface unmarked, the Drakon blazoned across it.

“That was a three-kiloton warhead, and it detonated within a hundred yards of the platform. It would have been the same with a hydrogen warhead. You simply do not possess enough command of natural energies to harm us. In your terms… think of a nuclear aircraft carrier matched against a wooden galley propelled by oars.”

“And now this.”

Mecca. A Draka is walking down a street before the ka’bah, the black rock that Muslims worship at – worshipped, past tense, I remind myself. She’s wearing briefs and what looks like a broad black belt; more clothing under a softsuit or infantry armor is inconvenient. 

Everine Palgersson, my memory prompts. Now back on the Prime Line, with a whacking great demerit on her record, sulking on the family estate in Andea Province. Standing orders forbid a presence in areas not under one-hundred-percent realtime surveillance, and we hadn’t had time to seed that area with micro-scanners yet. Gods-damned sightseer. I won’t deny reasonable recreation, or collecting a few humans for amusement, or presents for friends and relatives back on the Prime Line, but I will have my orders obeyed. The Race needs to tighten its discipline, now that the long peace is over.

Slow-motion, the view from above shows a line of fire streaking out from one of the buildings. “This was a heavy guided antitank rocket launched from less than fifty yards range.”

Motion slows even more. And still the response of the armor suit is rapid, flicking out to cover the Draka’s body long before the rocket slams home – a full half-second. The matt-black figure is thrown a hundred yards as the penetrator flare of the shaped-charge warhead splashes from the memet surface. A good thing there’s free space to move in, or the kinetic energy might have damaged the occupant for all the suit could do. The view flicks back into realtime, showing the Draka staggering back to her feet fully ten seconds later, shaking the featureless ovoid of her head, then turning and crouching. A hand extends, and the battle suit forms a smooth globe over it. The memet ripples as weapons migrate through its quasi-intelligent macromolecules. The beam is invisible, but the crash as the building where the missile was launched erupts into the air is spectacular enough.

“This attack actually succeeded in hurting a Draka. Slightly.” A view of Everine reclining on a docbed in a weapons-platform personnel bay, while a unit debrides her bruise. The next shot shows a white line stretching down from the sky, and then a glowing ball of vapor where the Ka’bah once rested, expanding, buildings and vehicles vanishing into flying spall as the shocked-white dome of the blast wave expands outward.. “That was not a nuclear weapon. Simply a piece of nickel-iron thrown downwards at suitable velocity, with an energy release of approximately five kiloton range. This time, we allowed the population to evacuate –”

A view of humans by the thousands plodding along roads in the desert, vehicles bumper to bumper, others trudging by the side of the road, a veiled woman leading a crying child.

“— due to the symbolic importance of the target. But the next time, we may not be so merciful. If any of you were to be unfortunate enough to actually seriously hurt a Draka, or still worse, to kill one, we would not be merciful. At all.” This time I do let myself snarl. After a moment, with a soothing gesture:

“But those who cooperate fully have nothing to fear. Quite the contrary. As Planetary Archon of this Earth under the Council of Directorates, I proclaim the end of war, forever, on this world. Already your nuclear weapons are being collected –”

Behind me, humans load a warhead onto a momentum-transfer driven sled; it rises smoothly to the weapons platform above.

“—and your armed forces will demobilize, your navies, your armies, your air forces. We will, in cooperation with your governments, oversee this process. A world constabulary, of humans operating under our direction, will take their place and ensure global peace.”

And the number of Draka involved will be minimal. For one thing it’s too expensive; the energy costs Tamirindus listed for paratemporal transport are frightening, even by modern standards; and there’s an inherent instability to the whole setup that puts my teeth on edge. For another, I’m not going to have this planet disturbed more than necessary; for still another, everyone who settles here is going to be under my patronage and nobody else’s. I may get tired of running the domestication of this world someday, but that day is far distant. Perhaps Alexandra will take over from me then.

The Council voted me War Zone powers for a century; considerably more authority here than the Archon has back on the Prime Line. Hades, I think. I could have had Alexis’ job back, if I wanted it. The Samothracian attack frightened the Race, and here I’ve delivered an entire new world to the Domination. They very nearly beat us; they did hurt us, badly. The problem would have been to prevent the citizens from electing me a god. And Alexis knows it. A bitter pill, but he’ll swallow it.

“Furthermore, there will be some immediate benefits,” I say. Every word true. A swift sharp shock to break active resistance; then I will slide the humans here under the Yoke, and make them thank me for it. That, that is true Domination. My years here have taught me that much. “For a beginning….”

**  
“This is Dianne Carpenter, for CNN bringing you the, ah, the Archon of Earth.”

The human is trembling with a mixture of fear and excitement. I’m sitting alone, in a throne-like chair; must pay attention to their symbolism. I’m wearing a softsuit only; no sense in lugging a hundred pounds of battle armor around, when this area is under microscanner surveillance and the AI’s are watching. The suit covers me like a black coat of oil, set to glisten slightly in the lights. Otherwise it shows the flex of every tendon; drakensis physique was designed to impress, among its other functions.

Tom and Erin are to one side, on a couch. The area is like an island taken out of a room, surrounded by the cumbersome equipment humans here need for their crude vid broadcasts. I can scent a mixture of fear, throttled anger and attraction from the crews; for the present, I’m keeping my pheromones down to a minimum. Sweating a little, though, in the hot bright lights, and that brings a slight response around me, countered by soothing approval.

Tom is having a great time; I know he’s dreamed of this day. Erin’s a little more conflicted, but beginning to get into the spirit of it. I was careful with her last night, holding her while she shuddered, talking, soothing, taking her gently. Those dreams of hers are interesting; I must have it investigated. At a guess, it’s some sort of quantum spillover effect, from a nearby timeline but in the future. I wish she’d told me the first time; we might have avoided the incident with the human Air Force wench, whatever her name. Not the precise impression I wanted at that point; force is more effective as a threat.

“Ah, it’s an honor and a privilege to have you with us tonight, Archon Ingolfsson,” the media wench says.

I nod, calculating the right degree of regal politeness. Mine! The knowledge sings within me, fulfilling the deepest need. All, all mine forever! With that, I can be as gentle… as I please. This media person is about forty, but well-kept; blond, blue-eyed, with a long pleasant face, slim. There are probably nearly as many humans watching this as saw the speech before the UN last week.

“Thank you, Dianne,” I say. “Actually, the polite form of address to a Draka is usually uhmis for a female, and uhmas for a male.” I smile, and indicate myself. “I trust it’s fairly obvious I’m female.”

She nods, licking her lips in nervousness; probably remembering what the ghouloon said just before he ate that ridiculous human; and worse, on worldwide vid. Yes, if Erin has one of those dreams again, I will hear about it. 

“Yet I’ve heard your associates here refer to you as Muhmis,” she says.

“Well, you must understand, they’ve been with me since shortly after I… arrived here. That pronoun expresses a very… strong personal relationship in my language. Uhmis is a more… mmm, generally polite form.” General Submissive, if you want to get linguistic and technical, I think, and smile again, showing a little tooth.

“That’s fascinating, ah, Uhmis. Well, as my first question, I’d like to ask… what do you think will be the most obvious change for us here on this, mmm, timeline, now that contact has been made?”

“To most humans, the disappearance of disease,” I say, giving the question serious thought. I’m in a playful mood, feeling almost giddy; but duty, duty comes first.

“Of which diseases, Uhmis?”

“Essentially, all of them. From AIDS and malaria to cancer. We’re releasing the counteragents immediately, and the effects will be apparent within a few weeks.”

She gasps, and actual cheers break out from the vid crews. It takes a few seconds to restore order. 

“You mean… people will stop dying?”

“Of everything but old age,” I say. “And that will come later – the average lifespan should go up to between 100 and 120 years, given good nutrition. In a few years, we’ll also be able to introduce palliative treatments that will make people look and feel no more than middle-aged until immediately before then, as well.

“After that,” I go on, “The disappearance of wars, international and civil. In the next decade, we’ll eliminate pollution and other environmental problems – fusion reactors mean power will be cheap and clean, fusion torches mean all wastes can be reprocessed back to their constituent parts, and superconductor coils mean fossil fuels will be obsolete. Mining will move to space; with momentum-transfer drives, dragging asteroids into earth orbit is trivial. Along the way, we’ll eliminate hunger. “Disease” includes crop and domestic animal diseases, of course. But the transition will be gradual, to avoid economic dislocation and, what do you call it, unemployment.”

She gapes at me for a few seconds, her eyes glittering. Hmm. Perhaps someone close to her died   
of a disease recently. The crews cheer again, but they keep their machines working.

“Ah… ummm…” She glances down at a pad she’s holding. “Well, we’ll get into more of, ah, these wonderful features of the new arrangements later.” Dianne seems to be collecting her thoughts by an effort of will. I rather admire that; it’s always pleasant to see a skilled worker doing their job. “But you must understand, ah, Uhmis, that there’s a good deal of apprehension.” She forces a chuckle. “As a reporter, I’m naturally concerned about our First Amendment rights, for instance.”

“Ah, your Constitution,” I say. Americans here, as in the Prime Line’s history, seem to have a quasi-religious reverence for it, however much they violate its spirit and letter themselves. Odd, but you take humans as you find them. The metaphor sparks a thought, and I smile, beginning to adjust my pheromones.

“Well,” I go on, marshaling my thoughts. Best to avoid falsehoods, but one can be considerate of chattel. One should be, as Mother taught me. 

“To begin with, your institutions will function as before, unless we directly command otherwise,” I say. Dianne is beginning to sweat a little; Tom and Erin share a glance, chuckle, and look back at her. “Of course, any of your… mmmm, media… who counsel or advocate rebellion or resistance will be considered in violation of the New York Decrees.” Which I delivered here last Friday. “Beyond that, you can say very much what you will. We don’t expect everyone here to approve of what’s happened, and we don’t much care whether humans in general love or loathe us.” 

She looks a bit shocked at that; humans in general, and Yankees in particular, attach such importance to being thought well of. Well, I like my personal chattel to be happy with me, but it’s not at all the same thing.

“Likewise,” I go on, “your institutions – here in the United States, your President and Congress and so forth – will function much as before; you can have your elections, as long as all officials remember that our orders take precedence over everything else.”

I let my face grow stern with that, and Dianne swallows. “I understand completely,” she hastens to add. “Could… ah, could you give us some examples where there will be changes?”

I nod, with some respect. It isn’t easy to do anything but grovel when a drakensis frowns. Particularly after the examples we’ve had to set. Hmmm, I think. I’m going to need a… public relations liaison. Perhaps… 

“Certainly, Dianne,” I continue. “For example: your Constitution forbids self-incrimination. Well, I can understand that. It was intended to prevent police officers from torturing confessions out of suspects; quite a worthy aim, since pain will make any human say anything – false confessions would be common as dirt. But our technology makes that quite obsolete. We have truth drugs that work, instantly and with 100% accuracy. We’ll insist that they be used by your law enforcement agencies, and so serious crime should be eliminated quite quickly. Besides that, we have means of… reforming criminals. Implanting inhibitions against specific behaviors; much more humane than letting them rot in prisons to no purpose. In fact, I expect violent crime to be pretty well eliminated in the next five or so years, here in the USA, and not long after throughout the world. Within two generations, completely eliminated. Along with such vileness as child abuse.”

Because by then you’ll all be servus, I think. And servus don’t do violent crime; a little childhood scuffling, some petty theft. Plenty of individual rivalries, feuds, spite, of course – they’re not robots – but they just don’t hurt each other. Nor do we drakensis hurt them, of course. Each other, yes…

She gasps again, then continues doggedly through her questions. Some I simply decline; no point in stressing the humans too much, at first. The picture that results is perfectly accurate; merely incomplete.

“Now, Uhmis Ingolfsson,” she says after a while – I put a strict half-hour time limit on this interview. “As a final set of questions…” She blushes; some of the crews are finding it difficult to concentrate, and I’m hiding my grin.

“You, ah, um, Draka… are all Draka as… well, as beautiful as yourself and the few others we’ve seen? There’s been a lot of Press comment on that, and on the, ah, charisma you seem to exert.”

“I’m fairly typical of the Race,” I say, cat-grinning at her. Some of the odder human commentators think we’re angels, or fallen angels.

“Ummm, will many of us have a chance to meet, ummm, members of the Draka Race?” Mostly she’s been subvocalizing her script; admirable self-control. This time she slips a little: Oh, God, their men… or even… stop that!

“I’m afraid not,” I say. 

Because, among other things, most of them have rather less self-control than I do, and no experience of humans. I’m going to set up a compulsory training program for everyone stationed here, right now.

“It would cause too much disruption,” I say. “Eventually, when the… circumstances are appropriate, more of the Race will move here; several million, eventually, but that’s in the very long run. And then more humans will have the, ah, opportunity to establish personal contact with us.”

Her eyes turn to Tom and Erin. “Can you, Mr. Cairstens, and you, Ms. Kane, tell our viewers a little about that?”

I hold up a hand. “As members of my personal Household, you really should address them as Ser and Sera,” I say. “It’s a point of manners. They are… saafn to me; that makes them higher-status than you."

She bobs her head and repeats the question with the honorific. Tom looks sleek and contented; Erin halfway between laughter and a sigh.

“Wonderful,” Tom says. “I’ve found it… fascinating and very… fulfilling, if demanding.”

“I’d agree with that,” Erin said. “A bit of a surprise at first, and sometimes a litte, mmh, alarming.” She glances out of the corner of her eyes at me and I wink. “But on the whole, yeah, fulfilling. Certainly like nothing else I’ve ever experienced.”

“Thank you, ah, Ser and Sera. This is Dianne Carpenter, for CNN, in this extraordinary time. Out.”

She takes the microphone from her lapel. “Thank you again, Uhmis Ingolfsson,” she says. “I hope that will give our viewers a better idea what to expect.”

Really, she has quite a nice smile. Why not? I think, and use my transducer to order the rest of the humans out of the room, through the microphones they’re all wearing. The examples have had some effect already; they leave quietly enough. My transducer does a quick check to ensure that the equipment is off. What’s going to happen now is not an image to be broadcast… yet. The room becomes a cavern of   
darkness with a puddle of light in its center.

“What –” Dianne is looking around as I rise and command the softsuit to shrink to a narrow belt around my waist. She looks at me and gasps. I’m wearing only briefs underneath it. I stretch, and run my hands down from my shoulders to thighs, then use my thumbs to skin out of the briefs.

my god, why is she doing – she can’t be— please – she thinks/murmurs. And: nobody can be that beautiful, nobody, it’s like the Victory of Samos, it’s terrifying she’s so beautiful not human oh jesus, she’s coming over here why am I feeling like this I’m trembling my god, my god my heart I’m sweating I’m wet –

Tom laughs. “Well, you wanted to know about closer contact with the Race,” he said. “You’re about to find out.”

Erin gives me a wry smile, and Dianne a sympathetic one. “That means, in plain English, she’s about to fuck your brains out, right here and right now, for starters. And you’re going to enjoy it. Don’t worry, just do what comes, ah, naturally.”

“You can even write a book about it afterwards,” Tom says. “It’ll make a fortune.”

“But… but…” The human is shrinking back in her chair, eyes wide and mouth trembling, looking from side to side in unconscious search for nonexistent rescue. “I’m… ah, I’m sorry, I’m straight, ah –”

“You were,” I say, keeping my voice warm and gentle. “Now you’re mine. Kneel to me, Dianne.”


	21. Chapter Twenty One

Chapter 21

I’m feeling homesick, so I pop in a Deanna Carter CD, and kick back for a few minutes. The servants have packed my things for the vacation trip…never mind that it’s only in another universe, where you and your friends will be truly a minority…the tiny voice chuckles coldly, and despite myself, I shiver. Sighing, I focus on the music. It was, and has been, sort of weird to get used to people doing things for me, I muse; I’m just used to doing my own laundry, washing my own dishes, picking up after myself. It seems like there’s always someone around…

Flowers an’ wine is what I thought I would find  
When I came home from working tonight  
Well now here I stand over this fryin’ pan  
An’ you want a cold one from the den  
I bought these new heels, did my nails, had my hair done just right  
I thought this new dress was a sure bet for romance tonight  
Well it’s perfectly clear between the TV and beer  
I won’t get so much as a kiss   
As I head for the door I turn around to be sure  
Did I shave my legs for this?

The tinkly honky tonk piano and slide guitar echo through my rooms, and I sing along, hamming it up. “Darlin’, did I shave mah le-yegs fer this?” Ah, nothing like a bit of country to get me feeling better. 

“Hooo-weee, doggies! At least I know you’re not heart-broken; Patsy’s not playing!” Peter dances into the room, dramatically, and Tom follows, laughing.

“Aw, guys…” I blush.

“She really can sing, you know, as opposed to that cat-in-heat warbling she was just exposing us to, dear,” Peter chuckles as he sinks down into the light brown couch. He flips through my mail, pulling out an Esquire magazine. “Oh, good! I love looking at the ads!”

“Who is this playing, Erin?” Tom moves to stand behind the couch, and rests his arms on Peter’s broad shoulders, looking at the magazine with him.

“It’s Deanna Carter. Want me to put something else on?” I stand from my recliner, my present to myself—my one indulgence. It does everything but friskify you or wash your hair; I’ve fallen asleep several times to the massager. “I have an…eclectic assortment, you know.”

“You can say that again…”

“I have an eclectic assortment, you—”

“Argh. Ack. Bad pun.” Fake-coughing, Peter rolls his head back, eyelashes fluttering inanely.

“Hey, you said…”

“What else do you have? Mind if I look, sweetie?” Tom stands up, patting the “fainting” Peter on the nose, and walks over to my multimedia stack. That’s been my other indulgence. Peter’s convinced that I am keeping the Bose people in business. I think I’m just keeping their Christmas bonuses high. The pay we’re getting is hard for me to imagine spending; Jennifer has taken me firmly in hand that way, investing my money for me, that sort of thing. She actually likes that stuff, I wonder.

“How about the Forrest Gump soundtrack? It looks good,” Tom says, pulling the cd case out and looking it over. “Sound okay to you guys?”

“We can listen to it barbequed, we can listen to it boiled, we can listen to it fried, we can… eeeaak!” Peter’s tackled me, knocking me onto the carpet, but absorbing the fall with his arms under me. He growls, or at least tries to, as I go into tickle mode and I yell, “Wuh-hah-hah…free yourself from the nefarious fingers of death, mortal, if you can…”

“These two are worse than…” Alice stands in the doorway, hands on hips. “Puppies. Or kittens.”

“You’re right, you know. Come on in and join the melee. I prefer to watch, I think.” Perching chastely on the couch, Tom grins widely.

“Hey, swabbie, that land-lubber over there sounds right snooty.”

“You’re right, Petty Officer Third Class Erin Kane…let’s do something about that!” Pulling me to my feet, Peter springs toward Tom, who holds his arms up in defense. I circle around the back of the couch, and attack from the rear, always successful.

Tickling his firmly-muscled sides, I realize why Peter enjoys him so much; he feels pretty darn good, even to me. Tom’s twisting and yelling, trying to get away from the two of us, and I hear Alice’s laughter in the background. I’m laughing hysterically myself; Tom finally grabs Peter, pulling him down to lie across Tom’s lap. Holding him there with one arm, he grasps me, tugging me over the edge of the back of the couch. I squeak, upside down, over Tom’s shoulder.

“I’ve got Peter in position, Alice—you get Erin!”

“Right-o, cobber! Here ya go, you silly sheila!” She playfully whacks my fanny, and I yell, my voice chiming in with Peter’s yelp as Tom spanks him. We all collapse into a giggling pile; I feel the warmth of Alice against my back as I slide down next to the two guys.

“We’re a bunch of nuts, you know that, guys?” I laugh, wiping tears from my eyes.

“Yeah, you’ve got that right…” Peter says from the bottom of the pile, his bright blue eyes glinting mischievously. “May I get up now, oh Spankman?”

“Only if you promise no more tickling attacks—I almost choked there for a moment,” Tom says, helping Peter stand up. Alice pulls me back across the couch, and hugs me gently.

“Everyone packed?” Alice nods toward the two pieces of luggage by the door. I nod, and Peter sighs.

“I guess…only two bags a person, though, really limits me…I hope, Erin, that you let the butler pack your things…”

“Hey, I can pack!” I pout, crossing my arms and poking my lower lip out.

“I know you can pack; it’s just what you pack that worries me…you are getting better,” Peter concedes to my frown. “At least you’ve learned the rudiments of color coordination. It’s been a rough few years, but I think the girl’s learning, Alice…”

“Listen to him…” I chuckle. “Hey, I’m thirsty—anyone else want something? A drink, juice—what?” I walk over to the wet bar, and pour myself a large glass of fresh-squeezed orange juice, swaffing about half of it down in one gulp. A chorus of requests meets my ears, so I spend the next few minutes making drinks for my friends.

“Alice, why don’t you pick the next CD? We’re about through with Forrest,” I call, bringing Tom his martini. Peter’s sipping on a greyhound, and I’m on my second orange juice. Alice, her Sprite in hand, walks over to the rack and scans the titles.

“My god, what a mixture! This is amazing!” She squats down, looking at the titles in the lower sections, and I notice how good she looks. Neither of us has kept any of the weight we gained during the pregnancies, and she looks positively sleek now. I glance down at my own waist, comparing it to my friend’s. It’s back down to where I can wear my size 12 jeans, but my hips seem wider now. My chest’s larger than it’s ever been, but I guess that goes along with nursing a baby. No Dolly Parton, but what’s there is…nice. Evenly proportioned, anyway, and not saggy, I think with a hint of self-satisfaction.

“How do you feel about the vacation, Erin? You’ve been quiet about it, when Muhmis and the rest of us have been talking about it. The only time you get animated about it is when she talks about the moon.” Peter leans his long, lanky form against his lover’s legs, and flips some stray black hairs off his forehead. His moustache twitches, and he strokes it.

“I’m okay about it…just sort of unsure, that’s all,” I reply, putting the disk that Alice’s handed me into the player and replacing the Forrest CD’s back in their holders. “I’m just…I don’t know; I try not to get too excited about these things. I’m not sure what to expect.”

Alice nods, “I think everyone going’s a bit…nervous. I know I am, some.”

“I can’t wait to see the way they’ve cleaned up Earth,” comments Tom, sipping his martini, eyes looking far off, into a place only he can see. 

He is kind of a fanatic about the environment, I think; probably how Gwen got to him in the first place…how’d she get to you, asks the cold little voice, and I wince. I’ve found myself enjoying my job more; I feel like I am in a place where what I say is actually listened to, for a change. I may not have a degree from some fancy college or something, but I know my trade, and I have a knack for managing people and problem-solving, I say to myself. It’s not all bad…

“Yeah, that will be something to see, won’t it? She says there are herds, millions-strong, of buffalo; I want to see that, myself. And she said something about centaurs, too…” Peter smiles up at Tom, hugging his legs. Tom grins back down, and runs his hand across Peter’s forehead.

“I bet the shopping is something else, too, girlfriend!” laughs Alice, sliding an arm around my waist, tugging me toward the little dining room. I look over at the boys, their faces soft and rose-colored in the glow from the fire I had lit earlier. They look so in love; my heart melts.

“Come on, cobber—want to talk with you a bit, and these two don’t know anyone else is in the Universe, right now…” Alice urges me into the other room, and I let her guide me there. I certainly don’t mind her arm around my waist; her perfume smells good, a light flowery scent that makes me think of the springs I spent down by Fort Pulaski, near Savannah…the Spanish moss in the oaks, the quiet roar of the ocean nearby, the stars at night…

I kiss her, shyly, on the lips as we enter the dining room, and she responds enthusiastically. We stand together for a few moments, merely enjoying the feelings, and then she shakes herself, laughing softly. “You’ll kiss all my carefully thought out ideas right out of my bloody head, if we keep on…time enough for that later, sweetlin’!”

I notice she’s picked up Gwen’s habit of calling me that, and I smile. “Wha—wha—were we going to…I don’t know—um—talk about something, Alice? I can’t remember…”

“Oh, go on with you now. Listen, it’s about Ruthann. Let’s sit a moment and talk, okay?” She sits down at the table, and I sit next to her, turning the chair to face her earnest, fair face, framed in wheat-blonde bangs.

“Okay.”

“You know, she’s been a bit testy with you…”

“Duh, like I haven’t noticed…I was thinking about that earlier, to be honest. I think we’re getting stuck in roles, Alice: you’re the good cop and I’m the bad cop. I’m the heavy around her, laying down the law. I think that’s one reason she’s so…fussy…with me, at least lately. Or is it something I’m doing that I don’t see?”

“I think you’ve hit the nail on the head. Amazing how we come to the same conclusions so often, Erin. I like that. I think…too, that she’s getting into the hormonal frisky stage, as you called it once. And I know Gwen’s been thinking about her…”

“Are you uncomfortable with that, Alice?” Not much we can do about what Gwen wants, I think to myself.

“Um…a little. I’ve talked with Gwen, long talks, about me, about how I feel protective of Ruthann. She’s very understanding, more than I would have thought a few months ago. She told me that she won’t take Ruthann until it’s truly time, and only when Ruthann wants it. But Ruthann is getting so giddy, about the Draka, male or female…I guess it’s just the hormones, but…”

“Should we two have a talk with Ruthann, about the birds, the bees and the pheromones?” I chuckle.

“Yeah. Maybe if you and I talk with her, she’ll understand that she can’t keep going around eyeing all the Overlords without…”

“Experiencing the consequences?”

“Exactly.” Alice smiles, holding my gaze with hers.

“And maybe we can change the good cop-bad cop routine around a little. What do you think?”

“Oh, right. We’ll do that, too—two birds with one stone!” Her clear, musical laughter fills the room, and I feel warm inside.

These times may be strange, I think to myself, but they’re good strange times. And don’t say a word, you damned little whisper in my head, or I swear I’ll dig you out with a dull butter knife…the warmth floods through me, and I realize I’ve only felt this content twice before: at Mamaw and Papaw’s cabin up in the Smokies, and one leave I spent with Shawonda, Peter, and our respective lovers in Spain… so many years ago, I remember, smiling softly.

“Where are you?” Alice’s voice is gentle.

“Remembering the other two times in my life I felt this happy, my friend,” I reply, taking hold of her hands and caressing them. “You are a good friend, Alice—thanks, thanks for putting up with me.”

“Putting up with you? Go on—you’re being silly again. I love you, too, Erin—you’ve been there so much for me. I’ve told you things I’ve never told anyone, ever, and you still like me…” Her voice wavers slightly, and I squeeze her hands comfortingly.

“You’re wonderful, Alice. Couldn’t do it without you…” I whisper, “…I love you, too…”

“Hey, girlfriends!!” Peter’s voice from the other room ends the moment we’ve been sharing, and we both laugh. “Hey!”

“What, leather-lungs?” I say, as I walk back into the living room. “Don’t you ever use that transducer thingy, anyhow?”

“It makes me feel itchy and creepy. So no, I don’t. How about we go eat dinner? I’m hungry!” He grins at me, unrepentant.

“That sounds fine to me, girl,” says Alice. She looks inquiringly at Tom, who’s stretched out on the couch. “Coming, Tom?”

“Oh, he has…” chortles Peter, and Tom, crimson, throws a pillow at his head. We all crack up, Alice joining in after a moment figuring out the slang. She and I solicitously help the poor, weak, exhausted Tom (actually, the poor, weak, exhausted-from-laughing-so-hard Tom) to his feet, and we all troop down to the dining room we humans use in the Waldorf-Astoria…

**  
After checking with Alice that all our bags are packed and ready to go, I watch the servants carry them to the Transit Site. They’re loaded into the capsule that’ll carry us to another time…another place. The thought still makes the hair on the back of my neck stand up, and I run a nervous hand through my hair, smoothing the wavy curls down. Alice glances over to me, hearing me sigh, and winks.

“Almost ready, old girl. I think we’re set to go in about an hour. Is that time enough?”

I look at Alice, an eyebrow raised in surprise. “Why, mah dear…”

“No, silly! I meant for the talk we’re going to have with Miss Fussy-Buns. Is an hour long enough? We really need to talk with the girl, before she gets into deep water…” Alice’s brow creases with worry, and I catch the serious undertones to her voice. She really cares a tremendous amount for the girl, and I like Ruthann a lot, too.

“Yeah, should be time. Let’s go corral the critter, and have a go. Remember, you’re going to be the bad cop this time around; I’m the gal in the white hat.” I grin and Alice returns it.

“Right, cobber. I’ll go get Ruthann; why don’t you see if my office is clear—we can meet there, or in one of the smaller conference rooms. Meet ya there…”

I walk down the hallway, and check Alice’s office suite. It’s full of staff members, and they’re all running flat out, trying to get things squared away somewhat before Gwen leaves on this vacation. Before we leave, I remind myself. You’re going, too, kiddo. Can’t believe it…but you’re going. I wave at a couple of friends, and then move down the corridor, checking into the smaller conference rooms. I finally find one that has just been vacated, and claim it triumphantly. This will have to be one of those to-the-point type talks, I think, as I clear off the table and straighten the chairs.

“But why, Alice? I mean, all I was doing was…”

Ruthann and Alice march into the room, Alice’s hand firmly gripping the collar of the adolescent’s filmy, silk sleeveless top. My eyes bulge a bit as I notice, for the first time, really, how well developed the young woman’s become. The blouse leaves little to the imagination, although the billowing pants more than make up for the brevity of the top. Alice pushes her down into one of the chairs, and turns to me, eyes alight with anger and worry.

“By god, it’s a damn good thing we decided to have this talk, with Miss Flash-it wandering loose in the building.” She turns to the young woman, sulking now, bare arms crossed in front of her. “And I’ve told you before, you can’t go about wearing stuff like this—” Alice picks up a piece of Ruthann’s blouse between thumb and forefinger, “—and expect the Draka, and our folks, to act like you’re an innocent little girl. You look like a…tart. And your makeup!”

“But Gwen hasn’t said I can’t wear what I want to. She’s my guardian, not you. And not you, either. So there.” Ruthann’s big brown eyes are full of vim and vigor, and her face’s flushed with anger. She stares at me, daring me to say something.

“Okay. I think everyone’s a bit…bothered right now. Let’s get a few things clear, right off the bat. Ruthann, we’re responsible for you to Gwen. You, on the other hand, are supposed to listen to us. Gwen’s told you that, several times. She doesn’t have time to check out what you’re wearing, nor should she have to. That’s what we’re for. We wanted to have this meeting with you to discuss—”

“Discuss? Don’t you mean fuss? That’s all you ever do, you…you…pony, you!” Ruthann starts to stand up and leave.

“Sit down! Now!” Alice’s shout surprises all of us, and I jump a bit, too; Ruthann’s fanny is quite suddenly firmly attached to the chair. “Now you listen up. I’m tired of you always being mad at Erin. This time, I’m going to lay down the law. If you want to go on this vacation, you’ll sit there, wipe that pout off your face, and listen for a change. Understood? This isn’t Alice, your buddy; this is from Sera Alice d’Ingolfsson, ranking servant in the Household. Got it?”

“Yes.”

Alice turns to me. “I’m going to get a glass of water. I need to take a minute to calm down. See what you can do with her.” She turns on her heel and walks out of the conference room. There’s a brief, awkward silence.

“So what’s got her panties in a bunch? She’s never yelled like that before…” Ruthann whines.

“Hey, that’s no way to talk about Alice. Listen, let’s just talk for a minute, sugar, while she’s gone. We need to get some things worked out, or you won’t be going with us. And I know you want to go, more than anything. Okay?” I focus on her, and try to keep my voice as calm and level as possible.

“Yeah. So what am I in trouble for this time?”

“You’re not in trouble. You will be, and in bigger trouble than we can get you out of, if you keep on being so…flirtatious. That’s one of the things we wanted to talk with you about. It’s important, it really is, Ruthann. I want to talk to you woman-to-woman, not grownup-to-adolescent. Okay?”

“I’m just having fun…Muhmis Gwen said she’d never let anyone hurt me, so I don’t know why you’re so bothered about fun. Unless…” Ruthann cocks her head to one side, looking at me closely. “Unless this is about my being…interested in her. That’s it, isn’t it? You’re just jealous, ‘cause I’m younger and prettier…”

“No, that ain’t it. Believe me.”

“But then why’re you bugging me?”

“I’m trying to talk some sense into…I’m trying, somehow, to get across the point, dear girl, that if you keep flirting, you’ll get a hell of a lot more than you ever, ever dreamed of. More than you want, truly. And I’m trying to tell you this from…experience. Not jealousy, not territorial crap…but because I’m concerned for you. I happen to love you, Ruthann, and it would sure break my heart to see you get hurt. And you will, if you don’t rein in the horses.”

The girl sighs, and rolls her eyes. I continue:

“Look, I’ve been there, done that…as hard as it may be to realize, I was once a teenager. I know what it’s like, all the silly rushes of feelings, the tears, the joys—wanting something so bad you can taste it, and then deciding the next day you want something else. The aloneness, the aching. I remember all that. It’s only been ten years, Ruthann—I’m 28. I’m not 128! I remember. And if I was in your shoes, I might be doing the same thing. These people are…the Draka are…beautiful, wonderful, sexy—but they’re as deadly as a cane-break rattler, darlin’. No fake.”

“But Gwen said—”

“I know what Gwen said. She said it to all of us. There’s a code or something on our transducers that says hands off. But if you keep on going the way you are, it’s not gonna matter. The Draka’ll just say, ‘Hey, she was really willing and eager, so sorry she’s not functional any more, oopsy’ to Gwen, when the damage is done. She’s a Planetary Archon now, sweetlin’, and she literally doesn’t have time to follow you around and make all the Draka behave nicely around you. This is serious!”

“But I’m not, like, throwing myself at people…”

“Your body language, the way you’re dressing, how you’re doing your makeup… the way you stare at them…that’s all sending a different message. You might not be really truly aware of it, either. And we all have to deal with the pheromones, kiddo. These Draka have never been around humans before, and they sometimes have trouble remembering to control their...emissions.”

“Pheromones?”

“Yes, remember, we’ve talked about them before. I know Gwen has told you a little about them. They’re like, chemicals…they send messages to your brain, through your sense of smell, and sometimes of taste, that tell your brain to do stuff, to react. The Draka know how to manipulate them, and they can be kind of overwhelming. Especially, right now, for what we’re talking about, the frisky ones.”

“I know about the birds and the bees, already, Erin, like duh!”

“Like, duh!,yourself, dearie. You do know about the basics, but the Draka… they’re a whole ‘nother ball game.”

Alice walks back in, face calmer, crystal glass of water in hand. “Gwen says we should be out by the Transit Site in about thirty minutes, gals.”

“Okay.” I look directly into Ruthann’s eyes, intent on finishing what I need to say. “Now listen, Ruthann, please listen. You have to grow up a little here. You have to take responsibility, because of who you are and where you are. Let me explain, before you toss your head and roll those big brown eyes. You have to take responsibility for your own behavior, and that means controlling the flirting. Despite any promises from our Muhmis, you can and will get hurt if you keep it up. We’re telling you, Alice and I, that we’re concerned for you, okay? The other thing is, since you’re a member of the Household, you have to act a certain way. Otherwise, you make Gwen… annoyed. And we all know, an annoyed Draka is not fun to be around.” I stand up, and pace. “You’re looked up to by a lot of the staff here. If they see you acting like a wild thing, they’ll do it too, and that’ll just make things really uncomfortable for all of us. Do you see where what you do sort of sets the tune to what others will do?”

“Well…I hadn’t really thought about that, much…”

“Think about it now. You’re going to have more and more responsibility as you get older, and as you get more education. You’re a member of a very elite group, and you can’t run around like a goofy chick, flirting here, there and everywhere. It just ain’t right. I know you know what I mean, don’t you?”

“Yeah, I guess so.”

Alice chimes in. “Listen, we’re not just ragging on you. We love you, and want you to be happy. Having sex with a Draka is… overwhelming, sometimes really great, but there are times it’s like being mauled by a tiger or something. You’ve got to understand, it’s not like being with a human. It’s different, more intense, more powerful. And that’s just my experiences, with a Draka who owns me personally, and who actually takes time to be gentle, understanding about this stuff…”

“Eeeuw, like, I don’t want details, okay, Alice? Thanks anyhow. Are we done yet?”

“See, that’s exactly what I mean—you aren’t listening. Damn it, Ruthann, you’ve been through enough hell in your short life. How do you think being with a Draka would be? Tell us, and we’ll tell you if you’re on target. We’re the ones with experience. Go on, tell. Now!” Alice’s voice cuts like a knife.

“Like, I don’t want to…that’s private stuff. The therapist said I don’t have to talk about private stuff, not with anyone. So stuff it!”

Alice steps toward Ruthann, her hands clenched. I nimbly hop in between the two. I know where the anger is coming from in Alice: all the years she suffered abuse from her demented aunt and uncle in Australia, all the rage at being hurt, used, abused—but this isn’t the right way to tell Ruthann. “Whoah, doggies! Whoah!”

Ruthann’s gotten up, and is bristling with rage. “Just stay out of this. It’s none of your business anyway, dyke.”

“Hey! Stop it! Both of you, sit down. I’m tired of this. Look, Alice, you’re mad because she’s not listening. Ruthann, you’re mad because you feel like we’re telling you what to do. I’m mad because I’m trying, desperately, to keep the peace, and all I get is names called at me. Enough. I mean it. Here’s the way things are, Ruthann. You’re going to either listen to us, and control yourself, be responsible for yourself and the way you act, or you can stay here, while all your buddies go to the Moon, and Mars, and other places you’ll miss out on. You’ll miss them because you’re just being stubborn. And that’s not very smart. I know you’re a bright, curious, wonderful young woman, and we’re trying to keep you from being hurt.”

The girl hangs her head, tears brimming. I feel a wrench at my heart; god knows I don’t want to make this girl hurt, she’s been hurt so much in her young life already, I think, and steel myself to go on:

“Alice doesn’t want to be mad at you; she’s mad because she cares. If none of us loved you, if we didn’t care about you at all, we’d just ignore what’s going on, and you’d end up in a world of hurt. Are you feeling kinda left out, with all this crazy stuff going on? Is that it, down deep inside?”

“Yeah.”

“Okay. That’s perfectly understandable. We’ll include you in more stuff, give you more jobs, if you’re willing to do the work. But you’ve simply got to listen to us, honey, on this other stuff. You think that being with a Draka would be the sexiest, most hot-n-steamy thing you can think of, right? You dream about it, don’t you?”

A blush, and a brief nod, yes.

“We all do. It’s the way they look, the way their pheromones work on us. But being with a Draka, especially one who has no interest in you besides as a mount, is most probably one of the most terrifying things you could ever experience. They’re so much stronger than we are; they can physically make you do whatever they want. And believe me, they’re not shy. And pheromonally, they can just blow your mind. You have no control. None. And I know that would be really awful for you to go through.”

I stroke my hand through her long black hair, my voice growing softer. Alice’s eyes have filled up, and she’s crying, quietly. Ruthann looks up at her, startled, and then looks at me. “Ruthann, you’ve been raped. I know about that. Being with a random Draka would be that experience, twenty times over. Please, please, don’t put yourself in that place. You don’t want to go there.”

“But…Gwen…I like her so much… I dream about her…”

“I know! It’s all over your face, when you’re near her. That’s cool. She’s talked with Alice about it, and knows how you feel. But she’s also decided it’s not quite time for that sort of thing with you. It’s not ‘cause you’re not pretty, or something like that—you’re very pretty indeed. She just knows the hell you’ve been through, and wants to wait. She’ll tell you when it’s time. But she’s a Draka who grew up with humans. She remembers how to deal with us, honey. These other folks, like the guy with the blond ponytail, he’s not used to humans. He’d just take you, period. No matter if half-way through, you said, ‘Like, okay, dude, that’s enough, I want to stop.’ He’d just laugh, and keep on. It could not only hurt you physically, but it could really hurt your mind. That’s what I want to prevent from happening, and that’s why we talked with you like this. Please, Ruthann, please understand. We love you, we really, really do.”

Alice wipes her face with a tissue, and reaches out a hand to Ruthann. “Darlin’, Erin’s right. I got so mad at you because I know how much something like that would…set you back. It could ruin all the hard, hard work you’ve done with the therapist, over these last couple of years. We’re not saying the feelings you’re having are bad, or that you shouldn’t have them…we’re just saying you’ve got to be aware of the dangerous side of the Draka. The feelings are fine; you just have to learn how to manage them. Coming of age in this crazy time, with all these bloody changes, it’s got to be hard. Please, try to see us as friends, not bosses, not dumb grownups. We want to be friends with you, and we want to keep you from hurting yourself, or making Gwen get into a situation that she doesn’t really have time for, kiddo…”

“Speaking of time, we better migrate. Come on, ladies, group hug. Come on!” I hold my arms out, and the two hug me, tightly. “Aarrgh! Not bear hugs…”

As we walk quietly out of the room, Ruthann pauses. “You know, you’re right, guys. If you didn’t care about me, I’d be…dead. Or, even if I wasn’t dead, I’d be getting into trouble. Thanks. I’m sorry I’m such a bitch sometimes. I just get mad. I didn’t mean to call names, or nothing. Sorry. Don’t be mad.”

“I’m not mad, sweetlin’. I understand. Let’s be friends, and everything will work out okay, right?” I hug her again, and she nods against my shoulder.

Alice strokes the young girl’s back. “Growing up’s never easy, but it’s easier with friends, Ruthann.”


	22. Chapter Twenty Two

Chapter 22

The shock of transition through the mole hole to the Prime Line chills me a bit, but it’s nothing to what my first, unscheduled arrival on Earth/2 was. Now we’re surrounded by memet interlaced with protective fields. Even so, I’ve had the children in a suppressor field, keeping them unconscious until we arrive. It’s a fairly small party; Alice and Erin, Tom and Peter, Ruthann and the nursery wenches. We’re all tired; the first six months after the Arrival has been brutal, days and nights of slogging work. Well enough now that I can take a few weeks away, and there’s the link to call me back if there’s a real emergency. 

Tamirindus is overseeing the mole hole itself, but that’s also become more routine, and she can fill in for me for a while, we’re not running Earth/2 on a very tight rein yet. She’s also running Dolores, which is why the wench isn’t here. After that first time, Tamirindus asked to borrow her for a month, with the Columbian’s enthusiastic approval; I was a bit piqued. Probably I stressed her too much when I was breaking her, I think – I was a little clumsy with humans, then. Tamirindus is a little rougher with her, more as I was at first, and that probably fulfills her dependency-need better… Dolores d’Rohm, now. Tamirindus finds humans intriguing. She’ll be much on Earth/2 over the next century, since we’re going to use it as a base for three new exploratory mole holes when things have settled down.

“Your first glimpse won’t be much,” I say, as the humans shake themselves and come back to alertness. “Think of this as an… industrial site.”

I can scent their eagerness and awe as the capsule hovers down and turns transparent, one wall opening and shaping itself into a ramp. There’s an honor guard of ghouloons, sitting back on their haunches and slapping their chests in salute; their Draka officer clicks heels and bows his head slightly for an instant; the Archonal Salute. Around us are walls of force field and memet, huge angular shapes, military vehicles hovering or parked on glassy slag rock pavement in their default forms. And for once, I can forget all these details. There’s an air car waiting, and I made it plain I wanted no formalities beyond the necessary minimum.

The vehicle is a luxury model set to arrowhead shape, with fixed furnishings inside – padded chairs, lapis-and-ivory inlay on ebony tables. I lead them up the ramp, the humans looking around wide-eyed, the children murmuring sleepily. We lift off carefully, no more sensation than an Earth/2 elevator, and cruise up the Hudson Valley.

Ceiling and walls to one-meter height, transparent, I say. What a relief to finally have machinery that does what you tell it! There’s a murmur from my serfs as the material seems to vanish, leaving bright spring sunshine in its wake. I leave the air car on auto as we thread our way through the heavy traffic around the Mole hole works, then:

“Height, three hundred meters, speed, three hundred kph, course maximum scenic for Eponastead,” I continue aloud.

Ground rolls away below us; the Hudson Valley is estates, each centered around its manor and servus village, with cultivated fields and orchards giving way to woodlots, and the miles of wild forest that separate each plantation. More wilderness covers the hills further back from the river.

Tom is pressing his hands and nose against the side, his usual pose of savoir-faire abandoned; tears of sheer joy run down his cheeks. 

“Oh, God,” he whispers. “It’s so beautiful.” 

I laugh, relaxed and happy. “You ain’t seen nothing yet,” I say. “Marie Claire, get us all some coffee or whatever – that’s the refresher cabinet, over there.”

The car swoops lower over a misty lake in the Adirondacks, and migrating geese and ducks rise millionfold; over the Ohio valley we are in a flock of passenger pigeons for twenty minutes, the humans exclaiming at the wonder of it and the endless miles of climax-forest, a thousand shades of tender spring green, dogwoods like white explosions against it. I enjoy their happiness, and still more when we reach the great plains. Herds of buffalo, both the smaller variety they’re used to in pictures and the giant Pleistocene version our geneticists re-created, covering the endless grasslands like furry black-brown moving carpets. A bevy of shaggy mammoths, tearing branches from cottonwoods along a stream and raising their trunks to trumpet challenge at us; near them, visible to us but not them, a pride of tawny-and-black striped saber tooth, creeping in for a rush. 

Antelope, wild horses, hunting bear, ground sloths, giant armadillo, packs of lobo and dire wolves, plains lion… I share Tom’s joy, if not the others’ wonder. Earth/2 is dead in many ways. There’s a universal gasp as we pass a tribe of centaurs on the march, mares and younglings dragging travois loaded with gear, warriors galloping around the perimeter to guard. They shake their lances in salute, raising painted faces beneath helmets of buffalo-hide and horns, or feathers. Centaurs aren’t one of the species on the Hunting List; we created them for the sheer pleasure of it. Draka are supernatural beings in their pantheon, and the rare centaur taken from the wilds into service is envied.

“We’ll bring your world back to life like this,” I tell Tom.

“Aren’t there any people?” Erin asks, a little shaken.

“Plenty,” I say. “About five hundred million servus and drakensis on Earth, with maybe a million of other sapients – centaurs, fauns, ghouloons, goblins and the like. Half of that five hundred million live in cities; and the North American countryside is sparsely settled even by our standards, apart from a few spots along the coasts. Two-thirds of the world is nature preserve of one sort or another, though. We don’t like being crowded. There are another two hundred million on Mars, and nearly as many more on the Moon and various habitats. Venus is just starting to be settled.”

We stop for a picnic in a high valley in the Rockies; it’s warm enough to be comfortable for the humans, and it’s a sentimental occasion for me.

“This is it,” I say, turning slowly in a circle, watching the snow peaks, scenting the clean smell of pine and rock and water. Grass comes to my thighs, starred with flowers white and crimson and blue, rippling across the valley floor like waves on the sea. The little brook chimes as it falls over colored pebbles, purls around mossy rocks, stirs the frond-fingers of willows. Up where the forest of lodge pole and aspen starts an elk bugles, and I can see his rack of antlers as he trots over a ridgeline. A grizzly and her two cubs look up; I remember to tell the air car to set its sonics to repel large animals from our immediate vicinity.

“This is it, what, Muhmis?” Alice says. She’s a city girl, a little intimidated by the wilderness. Overhead a pair of condors are wheeling, checking out this intrusion on their territory.

“This is where I was when the call came through from Tamirindus to get me out of retirement; I’d been loafing for a decade or two, hunting, hiding from the world, taking six-month vacations in the wilderness. Then they had that problem with the mole holes, and called me in to troubleshoot. Trouble! Little did we know. But all’s well that ends well, hmmm?”

The humans laugh. Alice and Erin nurse their charges; Tom and Peter go for a stroll hand-in-hand down the creek. Ruthann brings me my food from the hampers and lies at my feet as I sit cross-legged, eating her own ham sandwich. The younger human lingers near me, glancing out of the corners of her eyes, taking the opportunity to touch me now and then; her scent is plain, an invitation all on its own, without much pheromonal prompting from me. Mind you, she’s been on the edge of my emissions for over a year now, I think. If she was a servus, I’d take her here on the grass without hesitation; as it is, I look up at Alice. The human gives me a grave nod. She and Erin and Peter and I have discussed this with care. It’s been over a year since she entered the Household, and she’s made wonderful progress; it’s coming on to the time, and she has her own needs. I kiss Ruthann gently, then lay a warning finger on her nose when she tries to press closer.

“Ah! Not until I say so, younglin’.”

“Muhmis… when? Please?”

“Soon.” Another tap on the nose. “And no, you can’t ask when. You’re saafn, remember? Wait the command.”

I laugh at her sulky your will; there are ways and ways of saying that, and that’s a disagreement if I ever heard one. Natural enough; she’s a healthy young adolescent more than three years past puberty, and the inhibiting effects of her ghastly upbringing have been fading under good treatment and kindness, not to mention the therapy. It seemed like witchdoctoring to me, but humans don’t, didn’t, have access to direct mind-healing, and somehow their makeshifts work, sometimes. The needs demand satisfaction, one way or another.

“And don’t tease a Draka, you minx,” I grow serious for a moment, put sternness in my voice. “Listen, Ruthann, I mean that. I’ve put a deathduel don’t-touch signal on all your transducer codes. But you’re very appealing, I can’t watch you every minute, and if you start acting as if you want to be taken, someone very likely will. And then you might get… well, not physically hurt, but it could be extremely alarming for you, being treated like an experienced servus; and I’d have to kill someone, or possibly be killed myself – you never know, there’s always someone better out there somewhere.” 

I hold her eyes with mine. “You wouldn’t want that, would you?”

“Oh, no!” she cries, contrite, hugging my ankles. “Please, I’m sorry. I just –” 

“Sssssaa, I understand. Now come along.”

We troop back into the air car, the humans talking together quietly. “Leave the stuff, Tom,” I say; he’s fiendishly conscientious. “It’s designed to biodegrade, and the birds will enjoy the crusts.” I take manual control, piloting us through the high peaks where long banners of powder-snow blow off crag and summit.

“Eponastead”, I say a little later, turning southwest.

Southern California-that-was is densely settled, by Domination standards; the basins and coastal plains are checkered with fields, vineyards, silver-gray olive orchards, glossy-green orange groves, cherries and apricots and peaches white and pink with spring blossom; a small city sits on the site of Earth/2’s San Diego, white columns and red tiles, a blaze of gardens and a colorful forest of sails offshore. My place near the coast further north is not really a plantation; only sixty or so servus, and a few thousand acres of live oak and grass, enough for the horses I love. The inhabitants are grouped together by the square of tough flowered vine that marks the landing field; I take their scent as the car opens a hatch and extrudes a ramp. The mild, sweet odor is intoxicating after so long without those designed to be the other half of our being. So subtle, so responsive…

They drop to their knees and bow their heads, then bounce up and rush forward, shouting and cheering. Throwing flower petals, wreaths of more in their hair; they are the local breed based on the humans who survived the Final War hereabouts, olive-skinned and black of hair and eye, lithe. My eye takes in their faces, a few older ones gone, infants now shrieking, darting youngsters around the edges of the crowd. So many generations I have watched them…

I take Alexandra in my arms, then lift her high. She chews on one hand, eyes wide with wonder. “I’m back!” I say, and my serfs begin to chant and sing. “And here is your new young Muhmis, Alexandra Ingolfsson!” Gasps, and more cheers; it’s seventy years since I brought a child here.

They dance around us, eyes wide on the humans in their Earth/2 clothes, then surge forward and lift me shoulder-high, embracing and patting the humans, throwing woven flower wreaths around their necks and bowing to Alice to honor her and the infant in her arms, chattering, laughing. It takes six to carry me, but they manage, up the path cast in cool shadow by the great cypress trees that line it and through the gardens to the manor. That’s relatively simple; I’ve always come here to get away from things, for the past three centuries and a bit; I built this place the year Alois died, adding something new every thirty or forty years. 

Single-story, rambling, white walls and red-tile roofs, arched colonnades around courtyards and fountains done in tile mosaic, it has grown into its surroundings as the bougainvillea have grown over its walls, covering them in pale blue and fire-red. By the gates wait the household staff; all servus, except for Matantewyeh, a centauress – I found her fifty years ago on a hunting trip, left by her tribe with a broken leg as a colt, and took her in; she’s marvelous with horses, of course. And –

“Andri!” I shout, coming to my feet as the laughing estate servus set me down.

“I knew you were alive, I knew it!”

My favorite runs to me, weeping tears of joy, and flings himself into my arms, his around my neck, long tanned legs around my waist. I kiss him breathless and whirl him dizzy, his long brown hair flying, then turn laughing to the humans.

“Garceyi the steward here will settle you in. See you in a few hours!” I shift Andri to a fireman’s carry over my shoulder, a hand stroking his firmness under the tunic. I can scent his joyful readiness, and in this position, feel it. “First, there’s a reunion to handle.”

**  
The transit was…terrifying. The cold seemed to seep into my soul, and it’s only now, after being at Gwen’s estate, that I’m starting to feel warm again. It was so weird, so indescribable. I kinda wish Gwen had knocked me out, too, like Alexandra and Patrick, I think to myself, shivering. But I’m here, we’re all here, so it’s time to relax, to learn about this other place, these other people… I look around the study, eyes alight with curiosity. The books—the globe, the layout is so different, no country boundaries, just preserve markings. Gwen has some paintings here, too, spaced along the paneled walls.

I need the time by myself, to get squared away, as my Navy watch officer used to say. I’ve wandered off, into this room, to have some privacy, to get grounded. The others are all chatting away with the Household servus; I wonder how they’ll accept us. This place runs on hierarchies, on making sure you know where you stand with other folks. The babies, not paying any attention to all that fuss, are happy to gurgle at each other, and wobble around on hands and knees. Marie Claire and her girls have them well in hand, I think, and smile. The paintings draw me to them, and I look them over.

There’s one, it must be of her husband, Alois. If Peter sees it, he’ll faint, sure enough. Man, Alois is enough to make me think about fainting. A few years ago, I would have laughed and said, right forest, wrong tree, but now…his luminous, clear blue eyes look out at me, with an expression of amusement and love coming through sharply. His white-blond, shoulder-length hair spills softly down his neck; his slightly opened black shirt shows a chest that is smoothly, impressively muscled, hairless. He’s leaning back in a tall-backed chair, a glass of sherry, or something, resting in one cupped hand; the other hand is chocked behind his head. There’s an odd, closed-in curve of a smile on his aquiline, aristocratic face, and I wonder what he’s thinking. Too bad he died in that hunting accident Gwen’s mentioned. She must have been so in love, I muse, to get the feelings in this painting down so well.

The next picture is of a woman with dark blonde hair, short, streaked with grey. She’s wearing riding pants, and holding a crop behind her back; the tendons and muscles stand out clearly defined in her forearms and I shiver. Her cool grey eyes look out at me, with an expression of…appraisal, or assessment. The family resemblance, like what I’ve seen between Gwen and Tamarindus, isn’t as strong here; the overall attitude is the same, though. Behind her, in the distance, is an imposing castle-like building; maybe a chateau. There are grape vines and trellises in the foreground, and a huge horse, held by a groom, a slight woman, wearing a tunic and sandals. The broad set of the blonde woman’s shoulders, and the way she’s standing, remind me of a Marine Major I knew once; toughest chick I ever knew, until Gwen. I’ll have to ask Gwen who this is, I think to myself, moving on to the bookcases.

There’s an actual book, open on a reading stand, by the first glassed-in bookshelf I come to. Gwen’s explained how rare they are, now…I stop to read it, and gently touch the pages, turning them over slowly. The dialect’s difficult to get at first, but when I realize it’s Talk, the words translate inside my head for me. The poems—the book’s a slim, leather-bound volume of poetry—are bleak, sometimes despairing. The one near the end, about the quietness of space, and bodies drifting throughout eternity, a flicker of thought left to them, makes me get goose bumps all over. Who wrote this stuff, I wonder, and look at the front piece of the book. Yolande Ingolfsson? Gwen’s mother, her adoptive mother? Whoah! Man! I remember Muhmis telling Alice and I some about Yolande, when we were on vacation in Tahoe. This is her poetry?

I look through the books in the case, and find more volumes of her poetry. I wonder if it’s all sad like the other book, and take two over to a huge leather chair by the crackling fireplace. Even though it’s not freezing outside, the fire’s comforting, a familiar thing. I curl up in the chair, and read.

**   
“Ah, Maytin outdid himself,” I say.

Andri has joined me and the humans; all except Marie-Claire and the nursemaids, who aren’t of proper status and are off with their charges anyway. We’re in the informal dining room, with only a ceremonial salt-shaker separating me from my chattel. That wouldn’t do for a formal occasion with other, non-related Draka present, of course, but I’m here to relax. The table is shaped like a horseshoe, myself at the apex; overhead candles burn in a wrought-iron chandelier made by an estate blacksmith two centuries ago; the wood is local too, shaped and lovingly polished by crafts folk, the edges carved with vines and whimsical faces. One wall of the room is holo, set to a view of Jupiter from Europa; two are plain save for woven hangings, and a third gives out onto garden, with a view down the hillside to the sea where surf beats white on the beach. 

Servus dance there around bonfires, their own celebration at their Muhmis’ return. I can hear the music of guitars and flutes and drums over the hiss of surf and the night songs of the birds, scent the odors of roasting food and wine from their feast. One of my cats is stationed firmly near my ankles, occasionally reaching up a paw to pat my arm and demand a treat.

I sigh with contentment; I’ve always loved Maytin’s crab-and-abalone soup, and what he does with a roast suckling pig stuffed with chestnuts, onions and sage has to be tasted to be believed; every course and side-dish matches that standard, which isn’t easy. The dessert tray brings gasps from the humans as well; he and his assistants must have been working for a week on those pastry-clad fantasies of chocolate, cream, nuts and fruits. Maytin himself comes out, an elderly servus – beginning to show a few wrinkles around the eyes, a little gray at the temples – and bows to accept our thanks.

“Maytin, how long have you cooked here now?” I say.

“Eighty years, Muhmis, twenty with my mother, sixty in full charge,” he says, and pushes a blushing young wench forward. “This is my granddaughter Hulaia, Muhmis. If she ever starts thinking of something besides riding and being ridden, she’ll make a cook worthy to follow me, someday. I let her help on the stuffing for the pig this time.” 

And his grandsire before his mother; that makes four generations now, all as talented. I had them over to Archona, when I was Archon, on special occasions, cooking intimate suppers for guests I really wanted to honor. I remember his mother pushing him forward in almost the same manner, three quarters of a century ago.

“Well, Maytin, today you excelled yourself; and that’s not excepting the banquet for the Archon, forty-two years ago this April. Well done, my saafn. Well-done indeed.”

He flushes with pride and bows, checking a little before he leaves. “We were afraid for you, Muhmis. And… you came back to us.”

“Indeed.” I sigh and nibble a pastry, sipping brandy and some of the first really good coffee I’ve had in years; Blue Mountain back on Earth/2 is drinkable, but not up to the Prime Line’s standard. After a while, I look over at Ruthann; her eyes are shining on me. “A few days relaxation here, then on to… mmmm, yes, Archona. And then Selenopolis on the moon, and then Mars. Back here for the last two days, and then noses to the grindstone back on Earth/2.”

“What’s the moon like?” Erin asks, rapt.

“Look,” I say, nodding behind her shoulder. 

She turns, and freezes, mouth dropping open. So do the others, and through them I can see it as if it were new, for a moment; even to limited human eyes, the differences between this moon and theirs are stark. There is a crescent of sliver, over the waves. The rest is black, or would have been, except for the glow of the domes that cover so many of the craters, like constellations of jewels across the dark side, lapis-blue and jade-green and every mixture between. Some are points like stars, others large enough to show like shining lakes.

“We’ve domed thousands of the craters,” I say. “Hundreds more every year. Some of them are tens of thousands of square kilometers… miles… each. The glascrys domes are a hundred times stronger than steel, but lighter than balsa; doming goes fast these days, mostly automatic. We’ve connected the craters with great canyons and caverns, too, brought in water from comets and gas-giant moons, created a whole ecology for an area that’s larger than Africa, now. Seas and lakes and rivers, forests and mountains, birds that fly forever and trees a thousand feet tall… The roofs of the domes store the energy of the sun and re-radiate it on a day-night cycle, and that powers everything else. Even if we were to vanish tomorrow, it would go on living and growing for ten million years. You’ll see it, yourselves.”

That brings silence. I wait through it, then rise. “Well, time to move on to other pleasures,” I smile, nodding to Tom and Peter – Andri is looking tired and contented -- Alice and Erin. “See you in the morning. The Crescent Beach here is famous throughout the Domination, and I’ve got a sailboat…”

I take Ruthann’s hand; she gives a sharp exhalation of breath, apprehension and delight mixed, as I lead her away. The bedroom opens on a courtyard itself; a memet wall can rise if the weather is bad, but right now it’s like silk stroked against the skin. The walls are hung with blankets in colorful geometric styles, and the bed is heaped with bearskins that were brought down by my own spear and knife – neatly turned down by the staff to show crisp clean linen sheets, and the four posts are hung with garlands.

Ruthann’s hands are shaking a little as she undresses and kneels; I adjust my pheromones to help her. “Your will, Muhmis,” she says. 

I sit on the edge of the bed and put an arm around her shoulders as she settles beside me. “Alice…” I begin.

“Alice and Erin told me the, mmm, the birds and bees stuff, yeah,” she says, blushing furiously. It spreads down her chest to the small firm breasts of an adolescent; she’s seventeen and a few days now. “And what to say, this stuff. I… I was beginning to think you thought I was, you know…”

“Ugly?” I raise her chin and kiss her softly. “No, Ruthann, you’re a very pretty young wench, and I think you’ll please me very much,” I say firmly. Her smile unfolds like a blossom in the sun. “But you’d been hurt badly. There was time enough. There is time enough. You’ll be mine all your life.”

Suddenly she grips me with a force that would bruise a human, crying against my shoulder. Tears slide down, cool on my skin. I keep my grip on her consoling until they stop. “You won’t hurt me,” she says. “You saved me.”

“No,” I soothe. “I’ll always protect you, Ruthann. Is this too soon? Tell me if it is; that’s an order, wench.”

“No,” she looks up. “I want to serve your pleasure, Muhmis Gwen; you’re so beautiful, and I love you. I’ve wanted to for a long time.” I hide a chuckle; a month is still a long time, to this little human. And soon, so soon, she will be gone – no more than two generations at best. Like flowers they bloom and fade...

I touch the puckered scars on her arms. “We can have these taken away,” I say. “If you want. But they don’t repel me. You don’t.”

She lies back and holds out her arms; I can scent her fear fading under arousal. “Your will, Muhmis. Take pleasure. Ride this pony.”

I lay down beside her, smiling, and begin to touch her with delicate patience. She starts to wiggle; I enjoy the soft sounds she makes, and the changes in her scent, the feel of her body, the flow of blood under her skin and the astonishment in her eyes at the feelings my scent and fingers and lips are bringing her. 

All the time in the world, I think.


	23. Chapter Twenty Three

Chapter 23

The books of poetry have drawn me back into the study; Peter did ask me if I was okay, after dinner, and I assured him I was just fine and dandy. The quiet, though, is soothing, relaxing. After all the hard work and stress, it’s exactly what I need. He knows me well enough to understand that, and gives me a hug before I wander into the study again. He’s such a great guy, I think, curling up in the chair, a glass of wine at my side. 

A few hours later, I wander out to meet with my friends before bed. Tom and Peter have already disappeared, and Alice’s nodded off on the couch. I tiptoe up to her, and gently, gently, stroke her face. She murmurs, and rolls over. Hmmm…should I wake her, just to put her to bed? A servant, one of the Household servus, comes into the room and walks quietly over to me.

“Can you understand me, Sera Erin?” He says slowly, softly, a smile on his dark face. He bobs his head a bit, and I copy the movement. Have to figure out all this stuff about etiquette, I think to myself, that’s why Gwen downloaded all those dang files to us the other week…

“Yes, thanks for asking,” I whisper back. “Any ideas on how to get Sera Alice to bed? She’s really asleep. What’s your name?”

“Pyrt, Sera Erin, my name is Pyrt. How about if I just carry her? It would not be a … problem, would it?”

“Pyrt? Say, that’s kinda cute,” I grin, and he blushes, eyes sparkling. Uh, oh, does he think…hmm, better be careful. “We’re all so tired, from the Transit and all—I’d really appreciate your help getting her to bed, ‘cause I’m about asleep on my feet as it is…maybe we can talk some tomorrow, how does that sound?”

“Oh, lovely, I’d be honored, Sera Erin. Here, I’ll carry her to your rooms. She’s so sleepy! Like a child, really. This way, please—up these stairs.” He leads the way, and I follow, yawning.

**  
I bend slightly and Ruthann steps into my linked hands, balancing herself with a hand on my head. That leaves my face nearly in the water, salt waves breaking at my chin, my eyes narrowed against the brightblink reflections of the sun.

“Ready?” I ask.

“Ready!”

I straighten and fling. The slender human girl pitches back into the air, screaming in delighted play-fear, soaring to twice her height above the waves, then falling with a mighty spray in all directions, limbs flailing. I take a deep breath and dive into the face of a blue-green wave, feeling its cool power ripple across me. The sea shelves steeply here in this little sheltered cove; I scull downward, turning on my back to see Ruthann thrashing on the surface above. The hull of WaveLord, my sailboat, is a long oval not far from her. Tom’s long form cleaves into the water next to her; he must have dived from the rail. A wave down at me, and he swims towards Ruthann with a powerful crawl. They dodge for a moment, and then he begins to tow her back towards the shore.

Reassured that she’s safe – the girl’s swimming doesn’t go much beyond an elementary breast-stroke, but she enjoys the water – I turn and stroke out over the giant fronds of kelp. A sea otter goes by me, turning to look in curiosity, but he has an abalone clamped firmly against his chest, and a rock ready to break it open with him. I turn and arrow upward again, break the surface ten minutes after my dive, suck air into my lungs and move my legs just enough to keep myself afloat. A wave surges upwards, and gives me a view of the cove, the cliffs behind; off to the left the site of Baiae. Its great powder-sand beach curves, a few family parties of servus on it, or overlords with their dependents. Beyond it the green of the city’s trees stretch, with buildings and roofs colorful among them.

My crawl brings me into shallow water quickly; I bodysurf in on a wave, gather my feet under me, and spring ashore. This cove has been left as the centuries made it, except for a Triton statue that pours fresh water from a shell. I stand under that, washing the salt off my skin, and gulping a gallon or so; I can drink salt water at need, but this is more refreshing, and still cold from the spring that feeds it.

Ruthann comes up with a towel, her own skin still shining with droplets, wet hair plastered to her shoulders, grinning.

“Shall I dry you, muhmis?” she asks.

I nod and stand; she gives me a flirtatious glance out of the corner of her eyes as she crouches to do my feet, but I shake my head and wink. “Time and place, youngster,” I say. “Everyone has to learn things, Ruthann,” I add, as she flushes. One minute she’s brash, the next painfully bare of confidence in herself… but it has improved immeasurably.

I walk over to the blanket. Alice is nursing Alexandra, lying curled on her side on a blanket in the shade of the awning. Her eyes are closed, and she is smiling with parted lips, stroking the red curls of the infant head at her nipple. I watch them as I towel my hair dry – I’ve always preferred to do that myself, somehow – and Alexa’s alert gaze goes to me. She smiles, letting a little milk run down her chin; her baby fists are working on Alice’s breast to either side of her mouth, kneading with the same unconscious gesture a kitten uses.

The brooder looks up as my shade falls across her; her naturally fair skin is darkened to milk-brown, a simple supplement that lets her generate melanin almost as efficiently as a drakensis; the pale-blond, sun-streaked hair of her head and groin stand out more startlingly than ever against it. Alexandra is nut-brown herself, growing fast and nearly a year old now.

“Hi, Muhmis,” Alice murmurs. “Hey, little missy, had enough?”

“Hungry,” Alexa says; she’s talking earlier than a human child would, of course, but her universe is still sharply focused on her own immediate needs. She turns and toddles a few steps, then crawls towards Erin on the other side of the blanket, a look of determination on her infant features.

“OK,” the human says, putting down her book; it’s old, an original edition of For the Dead Who Fall Forever, by my mother. 

Erin sits up cross-legged and takes Alexandra on her lap, encircling her with one tanned arm and putting the other hand under a breast to guide it to my daughter’s mouth. Eight months old, I think. Time to wean; the humans of Erin’s home country do it as early as six months, which in my opinion is asking for problems. Tom and Peter come up on either side of me, and I put my arms over their shoulders; theirs go around my waist.

“God, she’s beautiful,” Tom says, and Peter nods.

“Oh, yes,” I say. 

“Ow! You’re getting teeth,” Erin says as the young drakensis tugs hungrily at her. “Why do they call ‘em milk teeth, anyway?”

As if in counterpoint, Alexandra leaves the breast and looks up. “Eat?” she says, and smiles again; that smile could conquer planets, although all it shows are gums and a few of those milk teeth. A small hand pats at Erin’s face. “Tantie-ma.”

Erin reaches back into the basket beside her own sleeping infant and brings out a jar and spoon. She looks at the contents and raises a brow; she picked up the written version of Talk very quickly. Most of it is vat-protein and other nutrients, tailored to be easily digestible. That’s not all, though.

“Salts of iron? Manganese sulfide?” she reads, raising her brows. “Jeezie petes, this reads like a lab inventory!”

“Carefully calculated for the young and growing Draka,” I reply.

“Fly!” Alexandra says, after her fourth mouthful, shutting her lips against the spoon. “Wan’ fly.”

She stumps over to me, and my chest turns warm. I catch her as she begins to topple, and put my hands under her arms. The small heart beats strongly against my palms, and I swoop her through the air. She gurgles and waves her arms and legs; then scowls and threatens to cry when I begin to put her down. 

“Pete!” she says. The tall black-haired man takes over for a moment; Patrick has woken, and Erin is nursing him in turn. I close my eyes and sigh; moments of perfect content are rare, and should be given the attention they deserve. 

I’m almost regretful when the ‘car lands for us, but everything has its season. “Put the field on the children,” I say, as we walk up the ramp; Marie-Claire and the nursemaids are waiting, with Andri and the luggage.

That brings deep natural sleep, through almost anything. “Come up here,” I say to Erin. “Everyone activate their restraints.” Tentacles loop out around waists and turn into belts.

She sits beside me as the air car lifts. Earth-Luna isn’t really interplanetary flight – at constant boost, it’s only an hour or two. “Here.” I guide her hand to a stick throttle that I’ve commanded the car to generate. “ Don’t be timid, it won’t let you do anything drastically wrong.”

The cove falls away beneath us as we climb in a long arc out over the Pacific; then the continent, as it grows into a map beneath us. Then the planet turns into a shield of blue and white. A click of perception aided by the transparency over our heads, and it is hanging above us, a vast turning curve of color, with the sun breaking around the edge of the world and casting a metallic light on the Atlantic far below. Weight fades as the momentum-transfer drive slides us into orbit, and the sky becomes space, deep and very dark, sprinkled with points of unending fire. Even to human eyes they are many-colored, with a deep hard radiance never seen from Earth side.

Erin’s eyes are shining; she’s silent, but it speaks louder than the other’s exclamations of wonder. I command the restraints and they vanish. Erin is laughing softly; she touches a wall and begins to spin softly, the skirt of her tunic flaring out. Ruthann is clinging to Alice…

After a while I command aloud: “Course, Selenopolis; boost incremental, 2%, one gravity cumulative.”

**  
The trip to the Moon is even more fantastic than I’ve ever imagined. All the childhood fantasies of working on Moonbase Alpha, being a space medicine physician, an astronaut, make a lump in my throat as Gwen lets me take the air car out of the atmosphere. Granted, I couldn’t do a kamikaze or anything, so it’s entirely safe, but still—the excitement makes tears rise, makes it impossible to talk for a while. Seeing the Earth is another wordless rush of feelings. My heart pounds, and I feel an odd wistfulness looking out the clear side of the air car at the planet, home of my…well, not anymore. Not the home of my people; they’re back on Earth/2. This Earth is different, but it looks the same from up here. No country lines, no boundaries, no politics, just the planet, against a startling blackness, lit by stars.

Once out of the atmosphere, and weightless, it’s a hoot to float around, watching the others scramble and bumble about. Gwen has, with forethought, made us take some sort of tiny yellow pill that would stave off the perils of weightlessness and lunch on the tummy; I remember stories of the “Vomit Comet” astronaut trainer of our Earth. I laugh out loud as I spin, clutching my knees to my chest, whirling around. No problems there, old gal—whooo-eeee! The Rebel Yell bursts from my lips, surprising everyone. Gwen laughs, tugging me to her, kissing me firmly. Our eyes meet, and she sees the dream come alive in mine.

Ruthann and Alice are battling with their hair, having let it get “away” from them. Their giggles resound in the cabin, and Peter is hugging Tom, who floats by the clear side of the craft. He’s quiet, worshipping. Of all of them, I think Tom’s feelings are the closest to mine, I think, warm in Gwen’s steel-strong arms, resting my head for a moment on her chest. She purrs slightly, and then ruffles my hair. The air car’s been calmly piloting us towards the base on the Moon, and she returns to her seat, taking hold of a control stick that…grows…from the floor of the air car. That sort of thing still worries me; seeing something I know logically isn’t alive act like it is gives me the willies.

“Come sit by me, Erin—I’ll point out where we’re going to land, and you can guide us in.” She speaks over her shoulder, and I float over, carefully, to reassume my seat next to my Muhmis. She commands the seat to restrain me, and the belts slick across me, holding me firmly against the plush leather. A control grows in front of me, and I touch it gingerly.

“Don’t be afraid; as I told you earlier, you can’t do anything really awful, the AI won’t let you. Grasp it, and try to follow the guidance line on the…windshield, I think you’d call it. See?” Her voice is calming, and her hand on mine feels reassuring. I see that the air car has thoughtfully set up some sort of heads-up display for me, and it’s like playing a video game—the line stays blue as long as I’m within certain bounds; if I go out of them, the stick gives me a slight twinge, and the color of the line shades to pink. Once I have the hang of it, it’s great—I love it.

The domed city we approach—Selenopolis, I remember Gwen called it—is huge. I mean, absolutely huge—it takes up the whole crater, diamond-glittering in the sun and earthlight. It’s the biggest city I’ve ever seen, but it also doesn’t look like any human city I’ve ever seen, either. Spires thrust toward the heights of the dome, and I see that Selenopolis is only one city of several; along the sides of the crater, huge houses and their farms spread green and white. In the depths of the crater, seen through the clear, glittering curve, are forests, lakes, rivers—a whole world within one crater. My eyes grow huge as I try to take it all in, and I feel giddy, floating above it all. The car guides me towards a glowing rectangle just off the curve of the crater, along the rim, and we glide to it smoothly. As we approach what I figure is a landing pad, I look over to Gwen, wondering when she’ll take over. She’s leaning back, with feline grace, in her chair, watching me from partly closed eyes.

“Ah, Muhmis—”

“You’re doing fine. Land us. That’s right…just follow the lines. The AI will do the rest. I’ve already cleared us for landing with Selenopolis Control.” A white-toothed grin follows, enjoying my nervousness and exhilaration.

“Um, okay…thanks, Gwen,” I say, quietly enough that the others, still laughing, gasping and giggling at the sights, don’t hear. She reaches over and strokes the side of my face, smiling.

I manage to land the craft, precisely in the blue lined square it set out for me, and there’s a gentle tug of gravity at us again. The smooth pad we’ve landed on sort of, well, crawls…it makes its way sedately into the curve of the dome, through several airlock doors, finally sloughing to a gentle stop along a blindingly white pavement. I can see lines of ghouloons, squatting, eyes and muzzles straight ahead, and several black-clad Draka waiting for us. The ghouloons make me shudder and I turn my eyes away from them, watching as the others get ready to disembark. Gwen commands the restrains to loosen again, and they zip back into the fabric of the chairs.

“Come, youngsters, see the Moon. Selenopolis, one of the many glories of the Race—” Gwen stands, and a door seems to telescope open in the side of the air car; steps grow down to the white, marble, I realize with a shock, pavement, and she bounds through the door, ignoring the steps. There’s a sharp, barking howl to greet her, and a heavy stamp of ghouloon paws on the glistening walkway.

“Service to the State, Planetary Archon Ingolfsson. Well-met!” The Draka woman who greets our muhmis salutes, fist to shoulder, stiffly. If I didn’t know better, I’d say I was looking at a nervous little Draka, I think silently to myself, and grin, as I walk down the stairs after Alice, Peter’s hand on my shoulder.

“Glory to the Race, Merarch. Thanks for the honor guard. This isn’t a State visit, it’s more of a vacation. No fuss, please. Nice looking pack of ghouloons,” Gwen murmurs, returning the woman’s salute with a nod of her head and a smile. The woman looks a bit at a loss for a moment, I wonder—and then I’m sure she’s nervous; her hair is bristling. It’s short, dark blonde, and she’s quite beautiful, but I can see the difference in rank between Muhmis and her in a glance.

“Yes, thank you, Archon…ah, would you like an escort to your quarters?”

“No, that won’t be necessary. I think a floater would be fine. Could you have the baggage delivered there within the hour, though? Be more convenient than having the serfs carry it—” Gwen gestures towards us, and the Merarch’s eyes widen a bit as she looks us over.

“Certainly, Archon. Are they—”

“Yes; they’re my saafn, archaic humans. My own personal staff. I thought I’d show them the sights. Their help was quite important to the success of the Project. Thank you for taking care of the baggage. Come on, you big-eyed humans, up here…” Gwen pounces on a platform floating several feet in the air, and we approach, slowly.

**  
“My god, the sights around here—it’s so hard to believe we’re really here, Erin!” Peter gasps, as he cranes his head to look at the spires we’re passing by. The forests below us, in the floor of the crater, are like the Appalachian hills Mamaw and Papaw lived in, I think to myself, as I give him a hug.

“This is truly amazing…yeah, it’s so wild that we’re here, for real. Look—look over there, at those birds, Petey!”

Our heads track the huge gliders; their wingspan must be—

“On the average, about twenty feet. Some of these newer models of condor have wingspans that are larger, but most are about twenty. If you look down here, some whales are sounding, Erin, Peter…” Gwen points, and we follow the direction her finger commands, and I see whales, blue whales, standing out of the water for an impossibly long moment, then plunging back into azure waters with a Niagara-like fountaining.

“Are all these houses, Gwen?” Alice nods at some of the huge edifices we’re floating past, done up with marble, wood, metals that shimmer and wink in the bright sunlight. “Do people live there, or are they some sort of government houses?” Ruthann is snuggled next to Alice, eyes wide, mouth hanging open.

“Yes, homes. Draka staff for the most part; my quarters are up a bit further, up there.” Gwen points again, this time up a sheer cliff side. I see more birds—no, they’re people, with flapping wings of color, sculling through the updrafts, above the fir trees, the houses, into the deepening blue of the dome’s sky. 

“How can people—” I start, and then grin at Gwen. “Or is it a Draka sort of thing?”

“No, you can do that, if you like, while we’re here. It wouldn’t work for you to try that on Mars, where I can, but here both of us can enjoy some gliding. Anyone who wants to, may—it’s great fun. Those are servus, by the way, the ones above us. Their owner’s colors are on the wings.”

“We can fly?” Tom and Peter say it at the same time, and I laugh delightedly. This is like falling through a rabbit hole, like Alice, I think to myself. I’ll have to believe three impossible things before breakfast just to keep up…

“Yes, you can, here. The gravity’s light enough. Sound fun?” Gwen’s amused, and her chuckle sends shivers of pleasure down my back.

“Oh, wow, man—we can fly like them—wow wow wow!” Ruthann jumps up and down in her excitement, and I have a brief moment of worry, thinking about the stability of the floater. It compensates so well we don’t even dip. The children are clapping their hands and cooing, looking about with wonderment. 

They’ve woken from their sleep aboard the craft, and are ready and rarin’ to go, now. Patrick’s laughter, innocent and carefree, brings a lump to my throat, and Peter’s hand joins mine. Tom holds his other hand, and smiles at us. Alexandra whoops for joy as Gwen swings her up into the air and then down again as the floater ascends the sheer cliffside toward a palatial mansion. The buildings perch like eagles on the branches of an oak tree, their bases becoming part of the cliff itself.

“Yes, we’ll fly, and other things—swim, shop—” Gwen winks at Alice, who’s holding Patrick and glancing about nervously at the rock walls and tree tops, the size of shrubs, seemingly. “Lots of shopping. Then we’ll go to Mars, spend a few days, and finally back to my cousin’s Landholding on Earth. It’ll be wonderful to be home again.” Her voice is warm, and I feel a rush of…deep liking…for her. I’ve never felt love for her, exactly, but this feeling is the closest I’ve ever felt. The wind tosses her mahogany red curls, the short hair she keeps on top and sides, and it’s matched by the identical hair of her clone daughter in her arms.

Something looking oddly like an airborne jellyfish wobbles by; I can see clearly through its transparent membrane to the mansions and hills beyond. It warbles softly, whistling, and all of us humans gasp. It’s as big as the floater we’re on. “What in the name of Sam Hill is that, Gwen?”

“It’s a flutterby,” she says calmly, and whistles back at it. It circles us, waving blue and pink tentacles in the air around us, and begins to sing. The eerie melody raises goose bumps all over me, and I circle around, watching it. The see-through membrane pulses with light now, iridescent in the blue sky. “It will be quite friendly…they’re programmed that way.” Gwen waves a hand at it, and it waves several arms back. 

Finally, it leaves us behind, floating further up into the domed sky, trilling an alien farewell.

“This place is like magic or something,” Ruthann volunteers, her eyes huge with hero worship as she gazes up at Gwen. Muhmis indulgently hugs her, stroking through the girl’s long, thick black hair.

“Glories of the Race, my child.” She looks down at Alexandra, who’s watching the air critter ascend, eyes wide. “And this is all part of your heritage, Alexa. All yours, to play with forever.”

**  
The mansion is burrowed back into the cliff; nothing too elaborate, and the staff are d’Ingolfsson – it’s a family property, has been for two centuries, and the kin-clan use it in rotation. Nobody quarreled with my request for an exclusive week! I chuckle to myself as the servus welcome us; they’re the Lunarian breed, slender, pale, with silvery hair and big silver-blue eyes. I enjoy the human’s enjoyment; it’s almost like making this trip the first time myself, with them along.

We settle in on a balcony that soars out from the cliff-face; a big table under an awning, chairs, a small pool and fountain, loungers, tall stone vases with flowers tumbling down their sides. It’s about a thousand feet above the foothills at the base of the crater wall, another two thousand below the lowest parts of the dome; some of the Lunar redwoods top out just below us, standing alone and regal in their clearings; an open forest of smaller oaks, only a few hundred feet high, lap over the rest of the hills and down into the lowlands. 

Most of the crater wall here about is covered with a dense mat of a tough green vine, starred with little crimson-and-white flowers; crags and boulders of off-white regolith stone jut through. Not far off to our right a waterfall arches down towards a small lake, dissolving into a cloud of mist before it strikes. A warm breeze brings giant dragonflies skimming by, a flock of blue-and-green birds singing a long harmony in faultless counterpoint. Those scatter as a winged cat circles in and lands on the carved stone of the railing. 

Ruthann claps her hands and cries out, and it arches its back a little – it looks much like a big domestic tabby, but with bat-style wings growing from its back, furred in the same tortoise-shell markings.

“What is that?” she cries.

“A pegapussy,” I say. “Here, puss-puss-puss.”

The animal glides down from the railing and approaches the table. It looks us over with cool cattish insolence, folding its wings, and croons:

“Foooood, errow, foood.”

“They can talk?” 

“A little,” I say. “They’re not sapient at all – about twice as smart as the ancestral cat. But they can say a few words, equivalent to complex meowing. Pretty well hardwired.”

I pick a piece of veal out of the pie that’s just been started and hold it out. The pegapuss takes it daintily, then licks its chops. “Foooood,” it meows almost silently.

The others feed it bits; Alexandra tries to grab its tail, and gets a hiss. After a while it condescends to let Erin scratch it behind the ears, purrs, then saunters across the black-and-white marble checkerboard of the balcony. On the railing it grooms for a second, carefully licking the fur of its wings, then launches itself off, catches a thermal, and soars away with its four paws tucked neatly underneath and tail streaming.

“Oh, can I have one?” Ruthann says. “Muhmis, please?”

“Sorry, kitten,” I say. “They can’t fly on earth – can’t live there. You can fly tomorrow, though; everyone who wants can come along tomorrow morning. Meantime, cut me another slice of the pie, will you? It’s catered; there’s a Selenopolis café, The Laughing Dove, and the couple who run it make the best veal-ham-and-truffle pie in the Solar System. And pass some of that pickle salad, and the green salad, and another couple of rolls.”

“Delicious, and meat pies aren’t my favorite food, usually,” Peter says sincerely. I nod agreement, take a sip of the wine – white, Selenhoc, vintage of 440 – and blink surprise when he goes on: “Are they servus, the couple with the restaurant?”

“Well, of course – no, it’s natural you wouldn’t know. That’s not drakensis work, buck. Personal service isn’t, generally speaking.”

He strokes his mustache. “Ah… who owns them, Muhmis?”

I consult my transducer. “Technically, the provincial government of Luna,” I say. “They’re d’Govvin. Hulo and Izzbeta Chung d’Govvin,” I go on. “They inherited the café, I think… yes. Well, technically it belongs to the provincial government too, but it would be a little silly to have them actually try to run a restaurant as well as the public services. So the authorities say – or said to the Chungs, a few generations back – go take care of this and left them to it.”

I lean back and sip a brandy, mostly listening to my humans talking. They’re a chatty species… but interesting. Every one of these is sharp, too.

I look up. The dome is darkening a little; the long twilight will begin soon. Glascrys can be utterly transparent, and a lunar night under a full Earth is something to see. Homelike, I think; I spent much of my childhood on the moon. Although that was back when the settlements were few and primitive; I’ve seen them grow into a world, over my lifetime.

“We’re going to a ballet, tonight,” I say. “You haven’t seen Swan Lake until you’ve seen it in 1/16th G. There’s a banquet afterwards – Draka affair, but there will be a lower table for saafn. We’re due in about three hours; allow twenty minutes transit, the floater will pick us up then.”

My old Inner Circle are all well trained enough to take a hint; no need for run along. “Not you, Ruthann,” I say; she lingers, flushing to the tips of her ears.

“Ah… your will, Muhmis?” she says uncertainly, looking around her when we’re alone.

Bedroom? I hear her whisper to herself.

“No, I’ll be having Tom and Alice for the night,” I say, drawing her over to the railing, standing with an arm around her shoulders. She’s reached nearly her full growth, about two inches taller than Erin, just Alice’s height – the top of her head brushes my chin as I slip behind her, holding her.

For a while we stay so, looking out over the crater landscape to the distant white towers and columns of Selenopolis around the central spike. The air is full of a subtle weaving of birdsong, the calls of flutterbys, wind in the great trees beneath us. 

“Ruthann,” I say, whispering in her ear, untying the belt of her tunic. “I want.”

“Uh… here?” she says. Her heartbeat flutters in my ears as I pull the garment over her head, caress her. Her eyes are wide as she looks up and back at me, her lips moist.

“Here,” I say, gentle and firm, my hands urging her thighs apart. “No, just stand like this. Like this. Now.” 

I take her there, listening to her cries of pleasure and the drinking delicate musk of her scent, feeling her quiver and buck and then arch for a long moment. In the light gravity of the moon she can still stand afterwards, turn, rub her face against me.

“I didn’t… you were so…” she says. I smile and kiss her, my hands running down her back. “You’re so strong. It scares me a little but it feels so good.”

“Alice was right, you know, my little kitten,” I say, running a hand through her hair. “I’m not human.”

“I love you anyway,” she whispers against my skin. “I want to be yours always.”

“That’s… very pleasant,” I say, putting a finger beneath her chin to turn it up, holding her eyes. “But don’t break your heart with it, Ruthann. I’m not a human. You will be mine always, pretty-wench, and we can be very close all your life, but I’ll never be… yours… the way another human can. I’m not made that way; I’m made to possess your kind. I can be your owner, your protector, your Muhmis, but never that.”

“I don’t care. This is what I want too.”

“Good then, little saafn,” I say. No long breaking-in here, I think, contented, drinking in her dark eyes and the look of worship there, the willingness. The finest domination of all, heart-sincere.

She begins to touch me, a little clumsy, but ardent. I chuckle, guide her; the sensations are almost unbearably sweet. When she kneels to serve me, my hands weave through her hair and I shout triumphant joy into the vast space before me.

**  
The days go by in a blur of one new discovery after another. I’m starting to feel overwhelmed; the flutterbys, the groups of pegapuss, the whales dancing in the clear morning air, tails just touching the surface of the water…they sing, too. The blue-green birds and the giant dragonflies—at least they have a touch of the familiar about them, I think, watching Peter and Tom soar above me, their translucent wings turning golden as the light catches them.

Ballet on the Moon is amazing, stunning—they almost literally fly around the stage. The dancers were beautiful, more of the Lunarian type of servus, large eyes, light, almost white hair, long, lanky bodies beautifully muscled and incredibly flexible. The dinner after had been…interesting. I wave back at Peter, who’s yodeling at me; his voice echoes from peak to peak and down into the tree line, joyous, alive, vibrant. My heart thrills at the sound—these rocks have probably never heard a true human do that, I wonder, and I yip up at him, a short Rebel Yell.

A wolf-bark answers us, and I turn my head, shading my eyes, to see Gwen swoop down on the two men like a bird of prey. Her powerful arms and shoulders can move her much faster than a human’s could, and her greater weight seems to add to the dive. She flies past the two men, rocking them with her passage, and then sculls upward, the tendons in her arms standing out clearly in the bright light. She goes higher and higher, until she’s a doll-like speck against the rise of the dome. I hear her call again, like a war trumpet, calling into the day—I feel my heart skip a beat and go on.

Tom lands, carefully, holding the wings up, on the crimson and white mat of plants nearby. Sweat trickles down his tanned face, down his chest, and I notice how well-defined he’s become. Quite a head-turner, if I do say so myself, I chuckle. Peter’s a lucky boy… “Holy harriers, Wingman, what was that that flew by you?” I call to him, and he laughs.

“Thought for a moment she was going to fly right through me—” Tom laughs, as a servus undoes the straps that bonded to his skin. “Sure you don’t want to try? It’s fantastic, Erin, really!”

“Nope. I’m happy, just watching y’all,” I reply. No way, Jose, I say to myself. I don’t mind flying the aircar, but I’m not flapping about with gauze wings, no way… Peter comes in for a landing, rougher than Tom’s; we both catch him as he stumbles forward.

“Hey, guy, don’t want you falling off the cliff without your wings!” I laugh, rubbing his damp hair, then tossing the towel to Tom. He can do a more…personal rub-down, I think.

“Me? I’d just float, since I’m such an angel, anyway…”

“Yeah, some angel you were last night, I bet,” I call over my shoulder, as I walk towards Alice and the babies. I hear a muttered reply, and then Tom’s laughter.

“Those two, I swear…”

“Ah, they’re good fun. Here, hold Alexandra while I capture Patrick, before he does manage to dump his father over the cliff,” says Alice, handing the Draka child to me. Alexandra giggles, and purrs, both at the same time, making her sound like a congested house cat. I snuggle her close, and watch the others. 

Gwen plummets down from the dome sky, landing with pinpoint accuracy on her feet, and servus rush to take the wings from her waiting arms. She moves in my direction, toweling herself dry and dropping the towel at her feet. I frown a bit; still can’t get used to that aspect. Seems like she could pick up after herself sometimes, I silently, very silently, think to myself. I school my features back into a happier face, and grin as Alexandra squeaks to get down.

“Come here, darlin’,” Gwen calls and Alexandra scampers to her mother’s outstretched arms.

**

“I think Peter was impressed with your cousin, Muhmis,” Alice laughs, arm-in-arm with Erin.

The children have been cooed over – an experience Alexandra did not find impressive – and whisked off to the nursery.

“Cercylas?” I say. “Well, he is damned good-looking, even by the Race’s standards. Bit of a stick-in-the-mud, though. He’s been here for two centuries, barring an occasional trip to town or the Moon or Mars.”

Peter mimes fainting, and Tom snorts. We’re walking along a gallery, near the tower that was my mother’s quarters, and which I use when I’m visiting here. One side looks out on the hillside gardens, down to the servus village, and beyond that to field and vineyard and olive-grove, cypress trees standing like living candles across the Tuscan hills – the tenderest landscape in the world, rising up to the blue-green heights of the Chianti hills. The Ingolfssons have been here nearly half a thousand years now, since the days of the Old Domination. The manor is older still in part, buildings incorporated at the Land-Taking, some of them standing when Michelangelo lived in the histories of Prime Line and Earth/2 alike. I’ve seen them in that line, an eerie experience.

“These aren’t all yours, are they, Muhmis?” Erin asks, nodding at the paintings.

“No, a lot of them are inherited – my great-aunt Tanya von Shrakenberg left a lot of hers to me. She painted too; taught me a lot of what I know, actually. Her branch of the family had –have – an estate up in the Loire Valley, settled about the same time as Claestum. You saw one of my portraits of her, back at Eponastead, the first day.”

We stop before one of my great-aunt’s. It’s a war scene; hard to remember, sometimes, that Aunt Tanya fought in the Eurasian War. The Hond III in the picture was hers, the Baalbeck Belle. Primitive, but there’s an undeniable menace to the ancient war machine, hulking and squat and sleek at the same time. It’s canted up, one tread resting on a pile of rubble; buildings burn in the background, and the turret is turned to one side, with the long cannon pointing off. The mailed fist of the Archonal Guard shows on the sloping glacis plate of the tank, withered heads on spikes mounted over the sponsoons that cover the tracks, and its armor is scarred and pitted. Patches of ice and packed snow in the foreground are the lightest things in that landscape of ruin and blowing sleet.

“She commanded a cohort of the Guard from the Caucasus to the Atlantic in our equivalent of your line’s World War Two,” I say with pride. “Tough old bitch – lived to be eighty, then died in a hunting accident, fell off a horse. I liked her.”

We pass a few more of her works. One shows a dark-haired girl in a school tunic, leaning against a wall with a discus in her hand and flowers woven in her hair, one bare foot flexed back against the whitewashed wall. The detailing is subtle; just a hint of sun-sheen on the scratched bronze of the disk, and somehow a feeling of hot white light and dust…

“That’s her lover in school,” I say. “She did a series of those, they’re quite famous. This next one is her husband – he was my brooder Marya’s father, I think I told you.” A tall blond man in planter’s leathers, one eye covered by a patch. “They couldn’t replace eyes then… these are Tanya’s children, and her grandchildren – New Race, those, of course.” Another is a nude study, a wench lying on her stomach beside a pool. The flesh-tones are wonderfully warm; I feel a little envy. There’s an elusive something about Tanya’s work I’ve always tried for, and very rarely reached. “That’s Solange, a wench she owned – a singer, really a very good one, for a human; you should try some of the recordings. Absolutely fantastic in bed, too, Tanya told me – and she had a fair basis for comparison. Now this is my mother, and she always hated this one.”

Yolande, standing on the marble steps of the Archonal Palace; a great crowd in the background, mouths open to cheer as the golden wreath is lowered onto her short pale-blond hair. She’s about forty in the picture, trim in a Strategos’ black uniform.

“That’s her receiving the Archon’s Prize for her Ravens in a Morning Sky collection,” I say. “Yolande always said the Prize made you wonder what you’d done wrong to please that jury of cranky fossils… but she did keep the wreath on the wall of her bedroom until the day she died.” I quote softly:

“Through my fingers slipped life’s touch;  
Yet the hands are Fate’s, not mine –  
I held and could not save --  
They say I loved too much…”

The last one in this sequence is a space scene. Deep space, beyond Pluto; there’s the edge of a viewport in the lower left, but apart from that nothing but a spot of leaf-shaped flame against the unwinking stars.

“Ummm… I suspect context is needed for that one,” Tom says.

I’m jarred out of my thoughts; he is a sharp one. “Yes,” I say quietly. “That’s from memory. I was out beyond Pluto when the Final War started, experimental ship… and that is too. That’s the drive of the New America, escaping to Alpha Centauri – Samothrace – the one thing we didn’t conquer. I stood there and watched her go, and wept… because it was glorious, and not ours.”

I shake myself. “You’ll be through here,” I say, at the base of the tower; there are rooms there, convenient to mine. “I’ll be riding tomorrow, but the steward will show you around; there’s a lot to see, here.”


	24. Chapter Twenty Four

Chapter 24

There’s a shuffling, muttering roar around us; the huge crowd has gathered around the wrought-iron fences set up by the security folks, and presses closer. I sigh, feeling claustrophobic: We’re still in New York, by the Waldorf-Astoria, our headquarters…nice place, if a little too fancy for me. No matter what, I’m still a country girl at heart. Give me a mountain stream, or a quiet field of wheat, anytime, over all this mess, I think, and turn back to Peter.

“It’s still strange, Erin, that’s all I meant,” says Peter, brushing his ponytail back over his shoulder. He’s wearing some of his new clothes, the blue and gold piping along the black tunic showing that we’re personal saafn of Gwen’s…

I shrug, and hand Patrick to Marie Claire. “Here ya go, sport. Would you walk him for a bit, dear? He’s a little colicky, I think. He should like being bounced, a bit.” I turn back to Peter, and hold his eyes with mine. We have to talk this out, and now, while Gwen’s busy.

“Peter, I know it’s still strange. People either act like we’re movie stars or something, or we’re cousins of the antichrist. But we need to be able to deal with it, either way. I don’t like it myself, either. But we can’t retreat—there’s no place to go. People will adjust, like we did. Or they won’t. Either way—”

“Yeah. I know. I know. You seem to do better with it than me.” His voice sounds flat, envious.

I stare at him, frowning. “You sound like you’re mad at me. Why?”

“Aw, come on, guys, don’t fuss—lookit all the big cars coming…hey, can I ride with y’all?” Ruthann’s cheery voice interrupts us, and we both turn to her. She’s pretty in a light blue dress, a short one no less, showing off her tan and long, slim, adolescent legs. The blue and gold piping on the dress highlights the deep sheen of her hair, glistening in the sunlight, and her grin is radiant.

“Sure, you can ride with us. Sorry,” I smile back at her, “but we’re just discussing… boring grown up stuff. Like us old coots do, y’know?”

She makes a face, pouting. “But you guys never stay mad at each other—do you?”

“No, of course we don’t, do we, Peter?”

“No.” He shrugs and walks toward the line of cars smoothly pulling up by the curb. 

There’s a parade scheduled for today, the anniversary of the Arrival. It doesn’t seem like a year has gone by already; it’s been a fairly smooth transition. There was that problem in Mecca, and another similar one in Philadelphia, but beyond that, it’s been relatively calm. The huge health benefits have had something to do with that, I think, and smile. I wish Mamaw and Papaw had lived to see this—Papaw would have been cured of the arthritis that dogged his last twenty years, and Mamaw’s heart problems would have been similarly taken care of. What they would have thought about the Draka, however, would have been another story, I guess.

“How come he’s mad atcha?” A tug at my sleeve reminds me there’s no holding Ruthann back on questions.

“He’s just got some different ideas about how well people are adjusting. He’s also been moody, for some reason. If he was a woman, I’d say he was on the rag or something,” I chuckle, and Ruthann guffaws.

“What’s so funny?” Alice joins us, her blonde hair carefully braided. Alexandra toddles with her, reaching up to grasp her hand in a ferocious tike’s grip. Several guards, Vulk’s horde, are conspicuous nearby, eyes searching the gathering crowd by the gates.

“Tantie-ma Erin…” is all the warning I get, as a red-headed bullet jumps into my arms. “Oooph!”

She snuggles against me, purring slightly. I look over her mahogany curls to Alice, and explain what I just told Ruthann. We share a grin, and start to walk toward the waiting cars. Alexandra wriggles, and I look down into leaf-green eyes, startling in their awareness. I mean, she’s barely over a year old, but you’d swear she was at least two and a half, sometimes, I think, and seeing Muhmis’ eyes looking at you from a tiny child’s face is… unsettling. “What, Red? How come you’re a-wigglin’ like a trout?”

“Wan’ down, Erin! Please? I wan’ to go see Petey. He’s tall…” Alexandra grins up at me, and I let her down carefully. She scampers ahead of us, gaily calling Peter’s name. He turns and holds his arms out, smiling, bending down, and she races toward him.

We come up to the car as Peter lifts her into the air, swinging her in a circle. His face is happy now as he looks into hers, mugging and then laughing as she breaks into giggles. The crowd presses near, with people waving, holding out pieces of paper. I’ve learned from experience not to get close to the people in the crowd, after being mobbed once. It’s like being the Beatles or something; they want your autograph, they want to give you messages, pleas for some sort of favor, their phone numbers…that sort of thing.

“Lots of folks out for the parade…Gwen said she’d be right down; she’s having some sort of meeting with Uhmis Tamarindus and some others, I think. Here she comes now—look,” Alice says, and I turn to see the security crowd parting up on the hill. Draka walk through them, and their spheres of social space cleave the human crowd like a hot knife through butter.

Gwen’s dressed in her semi-formal black uniform, with the red Draka on her collar. She moves leopard-smooth down the slight hill, smiling slightly, an odd, closed curve of her lips, as she sees Alexandra and Peter goofing around. Alice waves, and Gwen nods at us, walking toward us. I feel a sense of approval, or warmth, in her level green eyes, and smile.

Peter stoops to gently land Alexandra; I turn to ask him which car he’s going in, so maybe we can ride together. He straightens up at my call, and our eyes meet. He smiles and—

Three men and a woman, dressed in jeans and ragged sweaters, burst through the crowd, chanting. My eyes widen as I call out to Peter, “Behind you—look out! Petey!”

Time slows. The words the attackers are chanting: death to the Draka, death to the traitors…over and over. I see Peter twist and look over one shoulder, then grab Alexandra. Everything’s in slow motion, each movement distinct and clear…He turns back to toss her to me; the security men are charging towards us… there’s a dull click. I’m trying to run towards Peter, to catch Alexa, but I feel like my feet are mired in molasses. What was that noise? 

WHAM!

Peter’s silhouetted against the morning sky, and Alexandra flies through the air, colliding with me. We tumble to the grass, and I protectively cover her with my body. I feel hot, stinging stabs all along my legs and back, and struggle to get my breath. The young drakensis beneath me is growling, a high-pitched rage noise. I look down at her, and see that her eyes are dilated, lips peeled back to show baby teeth in a wolf’s snarl. My ears ring, and I feel dizzy. Peter—

“Peter!” I sit up, hearing screams, thuds. The Draka, all five or six of them, have charged down into the crowd, and bodies are flying. Blood spatters the ground near me, and I hear one falsetto shriek that goes on and on; suddenly it’s choked off in mid-squeal. “Peter?”

Alexandra’s roughly tugged from my arms, and a Draka holds her. I wobble to my knees, still dizzy, and look back to where Peter had been. The Draka have formed a semicircle, forcing the crowd back; one of the attackers is impaled on a “Do Not Enter” sign by one of the cars, and the other three, two men and the woman, are flat on the ground. Gwen is standing with her foot on one of them, snapping her head back and forth. I hear her guttural, ripping growl, picking it out of the general chaos surrounding us.

Alice’s running toward one of the black, armored limousines, Patrick in her arms. She turns, briefly, scanning the crowd for someone. She sees me, and her mouth drops open, eyes bulge—I see all this quite clearly, as if I’m a disinterested bystander, a human camera. I look up at the child being held by the black-uniformed Draka, and see that they’ve activated their memet body armor. Instead of a man holding a red-haired child, there’s a black, featureless statue holding a smaller version…I shudder, and look down at the grass. Blood…a hand, stretched out toward me…

“Peter?” I whisper. He’s spread-eagled on the blood-spattered grass, and my heart lurches. “Ah, god, no—please, no…” Crawling, I manage to get next to him, and turn his head to face me. He’s on his back, legs twisted under him at an impossible angle.

“Honey? Honey? Peter?” My voice cracks. 

His eyes blink open, through the mask of blood that covers his face, and their bright blue gaze holds mine. He forms words with his lips, but doesn’t have the strength to say anything. I lean over him, cradling his head, listening. Tears are blinding me, almost, and they fall onto his face, diluting the bloody mask.

“Alex-an-dra?” he breathes. His chest heaves, up and down, fighting for air.

“She’s fine—one of the Draka has her—you saved her, Peter. She’s fine. You will be, too, just hang on, honey, the corpsmen are on their way, come on, Peter, hang in there…”

“Pa-trick?”

I jerk my head up, scanning for our child and Marie Claire. I spot her, surrounded by a contingent of human security guards; they hustle her into one of the armored cars, along with Alice. “He’s with Marie Claire; they weren’t near the—the explosion…oh, god, Peter!”

His eyes have drifted, going foggy. He brings them back to my face, and smiles. “Love you… ah… Erin…” His chest heaves one more time, and a rattle comes from his throat. Limp, his head feels heavy in my hands.

“Peter! Come on, you can’t die on me! Fight! Come on! Peter! Peter!” I look up, desperate. “Corpsman! Corpsman! Help!”

One of the Draka stalks over, and squats next to us. He carefully looks at Peter, and then me. “He’s dead, wench. Too bad, he’s quite the hero, apparently…Archon? What’ll we do with—”

He’s cut off by a sound I’ve never heard before. After a second or two, I realize it’s me. Screaming, keening in the sunlight, kneeling on the grass with my best friend’s blood-spattered head in my lap. The sound seems to come from so far away, and I can’t stop it…

Whack! Whack! Muhmis’ hand slaps across my face, but I don’t stop wailing. I see her, looking down at me, saying something, but nothing else in the world matters. Visions of the Nimitz flash through my head, and my heart is breaking, lungs aching. No, no, no—it can’t be…not Peter, please, if there is a god, not him…

Gwen reaches over and clamps her hands on either side of my neck, squeezing slightly, precisely. The world suddenly goes gray, then black. My last thoughts are “Why? Why Peter?”

The cool light of the bedside lamp is the next thing I see. I’m in Muhmis’ bed, naked under the covers. I feel something tug at my arm, and look down to see some sort of silvery metal credit-card-sized device on my left forearm. I bring it up to look more closely at it, and someone gently brings my arm down again. “No, Sera Erin…leave that alone. It’s a medical computer thing. Please, Overlord’s orders…want some water?”

The nurse’s voice is kind, and soft. I look over to her, focusing on her round, Indian face. Warm brown eyes and her lilting accent seem to sooth me, and I relax back against the bed. “N-n-n-o. Thanks, no.”

Closing my eyes, I remember---I remember holding Peter. “What time is it?”

“Oh, it’s about eleven, Miss. You’ve been…unconscious for many hours, indeed.” She straightens the sheets, tucking me in. “You’ll be fine, though. Overlords have been in to check on you, several times they have been.”

“Mmmh.” I open my eyes, and look around. “Has Muhmis…Gwen…been here?”

“Yes, many times. She said she will be back in to check on you soon, the last time she was here…”

The door shushes open, and Gwen walks in, still wearing her blacks. Frowning with concern, she comes over to the bed, and squats down next to it. “How are you feeling, Erin?”

“Numb, Muhmis.” I look into her eyes, seeking confirmation to what I dread is true. “Peter…”

“Peter’s dead, sweetlin’. He couldn’t be revived, not even with our medical staff working on him. They tried, but there was far too much damage. You’re wounded, as well. You absorbed a lot of the blast and shrapnel, covering Alexandra with your body.” Her voice is firm, factual, but there’s a gentle undertone to it that brings tears to my eyes.

“No…it can’t be. I saved him once…why? He never hurt anyone…Gwen, why?” Sobs shake me, and twinges of pain rack my body as it moves.

“The fanatics who threw the homemade bomb don’t have a lot to say on that matter. Not that they haven’t been…talking. Screaming, mostly. But they won’t die, not until I’m ready for them to. Not until I say they will.” Gwen leans down to me, stroking my forehead. “Sssaaa, my poor kitten, I’m sorry. So sorry. We tried, really we did. He was a favorite of mine…as you are. Shhhh, please don’t cry so hard; it’s got to hurt.”

She says something to the nurse that I don’t catch, and the nurse leaves for a moment. As she leaves, Gwen slowly picks me up, and cradles me in her arms. “Sweet saafn, little ‘un, please…you’re heart-broken, I know, but try not to cry so hard…Erin, Erin…” Gwen rocks me gently back and forth.

“Alexandra…is she all right? And Alice, and Patrick…” I snuffle, leaning into my Muhmis’ steel-strong shoulder, feeling the heat from her body against mine.

“Yes, sweet, they’re fine…” She hesitates, though.

“What? Why are you hesitating, Muhmis? What else is wrong?”

“Ah…Ruthann. She’s gone, as well, Erin. I’m sorry.”

“No,” I whisper.

“Yes…fragments penetrated her brain. It was instantaneous; she never knew what happened,” Gwen says, softly. Her grip on me tightens as my sobs strengthen. “Erin, darlin’…it’s not your fault. You can’t save everyone…”

Through my gasps, I hear voices behind us, and then feel something cold against an arm, a sting. “Muhmis?”

“Ssssaaa…just a sedative. You need to settle down, give your body a chance to recover. It will be all right, Erin…”

“No, no it won’t—not ever…ah, Gwen…why?” My eyes grow tremendously heavy. “Why?”

**  
You’ve seen me naked in more ways than one;  
You’ve seen me done up; you’ve seen me come undone;  
We’ve cried in the darkness, we’ve laughed in the sun…  
We’ve been forever, but we’ve just begun…  
We’ve come full circle, all the way round;  
Thru the good times and thru the bad times  
Thru life’s ups and downs;  
Still we stayed together, thru thick and thru thin;  
Yes, we’ve come full circle; thank god we’re still friends…

Dolly Parton warbles from the tape deck, as I sit down by the pool. Peter’s just finished cutting up a huge watermelon, and sits down across from me, deep blue eyes merry, tanned face lit up from within by his good mood and happy smile… he chuckles as I sing along, my husky contralto trying to match Dolly’s soprano…

He finally laughs out loud, watermelon juice running down his chin, matting his mustache. “Girl, you are silly!” 

“Yeah, right…like you aren’t! Three watermelons?” I bite into a piece, spitting the seeds out, relishing the sugary-sweet taste. “Three?”

“Well, they were on sale…and I thought we’d spike one, for the party tomorrow night.” He spits a seed at me, and that starts a seed-spitting war that goes on until we run out of seeds and breath. Liberally speckled, we gasp for air, grinning like possums.

“What in the world?” Gwen stands behind Peter, her hands on her hips, leaf-green eyes alight with amusement. “What are you two doing?”

“Jest a’sittin’ an’ a’spittin’, ma’am…care tuh join us’ns?” I spit a left-over seed in her general direction, amazed at my own impertinence. Peter’s eyes widen, and he tips his head back to look at Muhmis.

“Oho, someone wants to play, hmm?” Grinning, Gwen tosses a whole chunk of watermelon at me, and it splashes across my bust. I squeal as the cold melon impacts, and scramble out of the chair. I duck behind Peter, as she circles, arm cocked, with another piece ready to throw. I duck just as she pitches it at me, and it hits Peter full in the face.

“Ptthhthhtt! Ack! Hey! I’m just an innocent bystander… okay, you wanna play that way, you two vixen… ptththhtt… okay, I’ll get you, my pretties…he he he he… and your little dog Toto, too…” He lurches to his feet, and thus begins the Great Watermelon War of Andros Island…

**

I wake from the fond dream, laughing softly, and then become aware of the tears trickling down my face, and the pain…

“They’ll have a trial for them, won’t they?” The voice wakes me, and I open my eyes to see morning sunshine streaming in through the windows. Another voice, a man’s, answers:

“No, not a public one. But I bet the execution will be an event, that’s for sure. Hey, she’s awake. Go tell the Overlords—they wanted to know. And bring a breakfast tray in. Hey, how are ya, Missy?”

A man bends over me, a white jacket with a Medical Corps badge and the stripes of a Petty Officer Second Class on his sleeve. I struggle to wake up completely, and try to sit up. He restrains me, gently. “Now, don’t want to strain yourself, ah, Sera… please, just lay back. We’ll bring you some breakfast, soon. Feel hungry?”

Food’s the last damn thing on my mind. Fury drives me upright. “Are the Overlords having a hearing or something on those…murdering scumbags, Chief? Please, I need to know!”

“Yeah, they are,” he replies, his chocolate brown face creasing with concern for me. “But it’s closed to us, you know? No humans, just them. The Archon, and her council. Big, major league stuff. Not for you to worry about, anyway. They’re going to have a public impalement or something today, so those murderers are gonna get what’s coming to them, that’s for sure. Now, please, lay down. You’ll rip your stitches out if you’re not careful.”

“Chief—this is important. I’ve got to get to that meeting. Please!”

“No way! No humans, that’s what they said. And I ain’t gonna argue with them, nope. Now lay down, or I’ll sock you with another shot, kiddo.”

“You don’t understand…” I lay back down, though, when he picks up a syringe. “Okay, Chief, aye aye—I’m laying down. No shots.”

“That’s better.” He puts the needle down, on the table next to the bed, and turns towards the door, where the other man is bringing in a tray of food. 

It’s now or never, I think, and scramble out of bed. My legs are shaky, but my anger propels me across the room, wrapping the sheet around me as I run. Both the men exclaim, and try to stop me, but I’m to the door before they are.

“Hey, stop her! Guard! Stop her!” The Chief bellows, as he stumbles into the tray-bearing man, and they tumble to the floor, arms and legs tangled. Food spatters and china smashes; I sprint.

I don’t pause to answer, running down the hallway. I know where I am now, and rage gives me an incredible strength I never suspected I had. Sliding to a halt by the main staircase, I glance down the hallway to see the two Navy corpsmen running toward me. I run down the stairs, and turn into the main, marble-floored hall. The meeting room is at the end of the hall; if I can just run fast enough, and no one pops out a door along the way, I’ll make it, I think to myself.

Dashing down the length of the hall, my bare feet cold against the marble, I hear more shouts behind me as security men join the Chief and his companion in the chase. I slide to a stop by the heavy, inlaid-wooden double doors of the meeting room, and yank them open. I slip inside, and lean against them to slam them shut before my pursuers can reach me.

There’s a silence and a sense of tremendous danger behind me, and I turn to face the Archon and her Council. Gwen is seated at the center of a semicircle; four other Draka are arrayed around her, two on each side. The human captives are kneeling, hands and feet bound, in front of them. I recognize the woman and the two men who survived the attack, and my rage is a volcano in my chest.

“What do you think you’re doing, wench?” Gwen’s voice is cold, commanding.

“I…I, ah…I have to say something, Muhmis…”

“Get back to bed, wench. This is neither the time nor the place for you. Go.”

“What are you going to do with them? Please. I have to know, Muhmis…plea—”

She has lept from her dais, and is now in front of me, having moved so fast she was merely a blur. Now she’s inches away from my face, and I feel pure, stark fear as her face leans into mine. Her voice blasts me. “Get. Back. To. My. Quarters. Now.”

Part of me wants to dig a hole, jump in, and pull it over me…but the rage within speaks more loudly. I’m surprised, and so is she, as I see by her blink, when I say, quietly, “No, Muhmis, all respect, but no. I have a blood debt that needs to be paid. What are you going to do with these…these creatures?”

“I don’t believe my ears. You must be concussed or something.” The other Draka look on, and one of the bound humans twists around to stare at us. 

I realize with a shock of horror that he’s blind; his eye sockets are empty, bloody holes, ragged around the edges, swollen and black with a crust of dried blood. 

“She should have died, too…goddamned race traitor…” he grates, his voice gravelly and spiteful. He groans as a black-clad boot sinks into his flabby stomach, and he doubles over, coughing.

“Please, Muhmis, listen…” I say slowly, and Gwen’s eyes swing back to me. “I know I’m being impertinent…if you want to kill me, fine…my life is yours, to do with what you will. I know that. I accept that. But this is more important.”

A coldly raised eyebrow, and her voice: “Go on, then.”

“The Chief said you were going to have a public impalement.”

“Yes.”

“Please, don’t.”

Gwen looks at me, and sighs. “Now is not the time to sweet-talk me out of a punishment. You’re treading on thin, very thin, ice as it is, girl. This isn’t a spanking you’re getting Jennifer out of, or a grounding for…” She stops, and looks away, over my head, for a moment. “For Ruthann. Now go back to bed.”

“Listen, please, please listen to me. I know I’m just a human… but listen.” My eyes are full of tears, my voice shaking, but I stand where I am, looking up into her face.

She snarls, and I decide to say my piece before she snaps my neck, since she probably will, now, anyway. “Muhmis, Archon…if you publicly impale these cretins, you’ll make them into martyrs. Is that what y’all want? Martyrs, for other cretins to copy? I have a better plan, a better idea.”

“Surprisingly, the human wench does have a point, Gwen,” says one of the other Draka, a woman with long, white-blonde hair. Gwen’s eyes flick to her, and then back to me. 

A sigh, under the snarling: “Go on, wench.”

“Erase them. Don’t martyr them. Make it as though they never existed at all.” My voice’s savage, and Gwen’s eyes widen a little. She’s never heard me like this; but then again, I’ve never felt like this, either. “Erase their names, their beings. No birth records, no school records…no work history, nothing. Kill them, yes…crush their bones, grind them, toss them in a land fill somewhere. No publicity. That’s what they want, so they can feel holy or something. Erase them, and no one will remember them.”

“You godless race traitor—you bitch! I’ll kill you—” screams the man who spoke before, and lunges, still bound, toward me, teeth bared in his mutilated, blinded face.

“What? Going to gnaw my knees off, you murdering son of a bitch?” I step past Gwen, and kick him full in the face. My foot stings, but he falls backward, with a satisfying thud. I feel a stitch or two pop, somewhere on me, but ignore it, turning back to Gwen. “Please, Archon…please consider my idea…” The energy seems to be draining from me, and I stagger, a little. I walk over to where Gwen, my Muhmis, is standing, and kneel before her, awkwardly, painfully.

“Hmm…perhaps it is a more fitting end. Fine. Any objections?” She looks over at the other four Draka, who shake their heads, no. “Well, wench, you’ve just done something amazing…” Her eyes look down at me, kneeling at her feet, waiting. “Bursting into a Council meeting is not a good recipe for a long life, human. Don’t ever, ever try something like this again. Am I making myself clear?”

I nod yes, and sigh. “Thank you, Archon, and the Council. I know it was awful of me…I’m sorry, if I seemed… impertinent…disrespectful. But it had to be said, even if you killed me for it.” I hang my head, waiting for what will happen next. I hope it’s fast, at least…then I’ll join Peter, or just not hurt anymore; either one is fine with me, I think silently to myself.

“Spirited one, that wench. One of your personal ones, isn’t she?” A male Draka says, his tone slightly disapproving, but amused.

“Yes, a favorite, actually. Soon to be a favorite with an extremely sore…well, I don’t really want to spank you, with shrapnel wounds. But I know some nerve clusters, that will be just as effective for punishment. Get back to bed, now, or else. Understood? Believe me, we’ll have a… long…talk about this, Erin. Believe me.” She points toward the door, and I whimper, subvocally, shivering.

I rise slowly to my feet. Bowing to the Council, and then more deeply to her, I back out of the room, into the waiting, and angry, arms of the Chief and his assistant. “Yeah, yeah, Chief—I know. But my fanny’s in enough hot water as it is; I don’t think you can scald any more off if you wanted to…”

“Maybe he can’t, girl, but I can!” Shawonda’s voice is cutting. “Get back into bed, this instant. I didn’t work my ass off, saving your scrawny butt just so you can go jump into the lion’s den…get on back into that bed, before I toss you there myself! And not a word out of you, either, not one. Or from either of you,” she says, turning on the two men, who suddenly become quite sheepish. “Great big ole men like you can’t catch some crazy-assed white girl runnin’ around in a damn sheet? What the hell Navy did y’all serve in, anyway?”

She herds us all down the hall, still cussin’ and fussin’. Somehow it feels comforting, but nothing seems to touch the ice that’s at the center of my heart. Peter, I think, it’s for you…ah, god, I needed you…

**

“And that’s the situation, Muhmis,” Jennifer concludes. “The new currency is being received well by the markets, and all the countries on the A list have been prompt with their payments to the World Bank. The Americans are asking what to do with the rest of the former Department of Defense money, and I’m going to suggest– Greenspan concurs – that they split it equally between educational spending and paying down the national debt. The GOP wanted more tax cuts, but they’re just operating on conditioned reflex – the drop in health costs has already put Medicare, Medicaid and Social Security so far in the black they’ll chop the marginal rate 25% this year and still have a surplus.”

I nod, briskly. “Well done, saafn,” I say to her and her team; they all deserve it, and the smile. “Jennifer, keep tomorrow evening clear, you’ll be in Household.” She beams, and the others look at her with envy. “I think that’s all.”

They bow in unison as they rise; the Japanese members do it much better than the Americans and Europeans who make up most of the rest of the team.

“Muhmis,” Dianne says from the door, coughing discretely. “The press conference?”

I sigh; getting through the working day has been difficult, the past week, and I’ve had to tune my glands consciously more than once. I rise and follow her to a dropshaft; we’ve begun modernizing the World Trade Center, the buildings we’ve taken over as central H.Q. The platform drops smoothly down a shaft with walls of memet; that parts to make an entrance at the right level.

As I walk into the big room, I reflect that this is a more orderly occasion than the human equivalents; but then, they’ve learned that we expect decorum. I walk to the high platform before the Drakon banner and sit, signal. The humans rise from their knees.

Dianne is brisk and efficient; good wench, I’ve never had any trouble with her. Evidently being Archon’s Press Secretary is close to her dream of Paradise, and after the first day or so she settled down nicely, keeping the human media in order, advising, and occasionally bedwenching with growing enthusiasm. I've enrolled her two children in the house-saafn school, and they’re doing very well. She shoots me a slightly worried glance – I’ve been getting a few of those – and steps aside.

“Uhmis Archon.” The ABC representative. “Could you tell us more about the Sudanese situation?”

I nod, smiling a little; some of them flinch. The Sudanese government thought it could operate behind our backs, secretly continuing its little civil war in the southern part of the country using tribal militias after we disbanded their military.

“We’ve taken two steps on that,” I say. “First –”

The wall behind me flashes to an overview of Khartoum, a dun-colored maze where the two branches of the Nile unite. A weapons platform hovers over the Blue Nile branch, and its plasma beam flashes the water into steam. A huge cloud of it drifts over the city, hot and wet and choking.

“After this demonstration, loyal members of the Sudanese government turned the conspirators over to us,” I say, and the wall shows handcuffed men, bruised and bleeding and wild-eyed, being turned over to gray-uniformed humans of the World Constabulary. A Draka in a battlesuit oversees as they are stripped, and led out to the waiting stakes, positioned, pressed down. They wail as the sharp wood lances up into their rectums; one goes into convulsions and dies immediately. The others are sobbing and screaming, moaning as their feet scrabble desperately in the dirt; the viewpoint gives closeups of their faces and bodies.

“Interrogations revealed the identities of all concerned, of course,” I say, and sigh. “Please emphasize in your reports that it is impossible to keep secrets from us. That will save future… unpleasantness such as this.”

“Ah, Uhmis Archon,” the New York Times representative says, still a little pale. “Can you tell us any more about the New York Waldorf-Astoria bombing incident?”

I spear him with my eyes, and he shivers, licking his lips. “Yes. Although this will be the last question on that matter, or mention of it or them, anywhere, at any time, in any public place. Understood?” Heads bob. “All the guilty parties are in our custody, and of course have told us everything.” I smile again, this time showing teeth. One reporter begins to cry, quietly. “Their disposition is a Race matter, and will not be discussed.” Let them imagine nameless horrors; in fact, I simply ripped their hearts out with my hand, one by one.

“Ummm, Uhmis Archon –” this is the Manchester Guardian. “Is there any truth to the rumor that all dams are to be demolished?” The room relaxes.

“Partially true,” I say. “With fusion power, they’re not necessary for electricity production, but flood control remains a concern.” Until we relocate the idiots who want to live in flood plains… “We’ll be publishing a schedule…” 

After the conference I descend to street level and order my softsuit to full coverage and one-way transparency that gives me a clear view and shows the outside world a walking statue of liquid black. Draka have become a fairly routine sight on the streets of New York – there are several hundred of us here now, and this is our headquarters. Clusters gather to watch as I pass, but none approach. The streets themselves and their inhabitants look little different as yet; no more derelicts, of course, or beggars, and things are considerably cleaner. Here and there the stench-belching cars have been replaced by electrics, not much different yet except that they are quieter and cleaner. We’re using New York as a test bed for a number of things. I notice a movie theatre advertising The Arrival; I saw a screening of that, and it’s hilarious. The thought makes me smile a little even now.

The Waldorf-Astoria isn’t a hotel anymore; we’ve taken it over as living quarters for those of the Race staying here; I have the top four floors as my New York residence. The walls have been permeated by memet; nothing shows, but this building would withstand anything short of an antimatter bomb. Guards salute in the lobby, and I return the gesture.

I sigh and let the softsuit crawl off to recharge as I enter my personal quarters. Alexandra comes running to meet me, and my heart lifts at the sight. We go on, I think, and swing the compact little bundle high. Patrick is clamoring around my legs, and I lift him in my other arm, twirling and swooping them. Alexa’s maturing fast, although I shut off the trickle of my memories from her transducer as soon as the breakthrough was secure; I’m glad she’ll have a more normal childhood than might have been, if things had gone wrong.

Alice takes the children from me after a moment. “Time for their dinners, Muhmis” she says.

I nod. “How’s Erin?”

The smile she’d worn for the two infants slides off her face. “Not good.” I hug her for a moment; Ruthann’s death has taken her hard, very hard. “I know, darlin’. But you’ve got to be strong for Alexa and Patrick.”

Alexa looks up. “Tantie-ma Erin’s sad,” she says. “Make it stop.”

I laugh and stoop to hug her again. “I’ll do my best, child of mine,” I say in Talk. She hears more English than her native language, and I have to remind myself to speak it with her sometimes. “Take Patrick along to the nursery, now.”

I walk out onto the rooftop garden. Erin is standing at the railing, looking out over the city; I walk up beside her, put an arm around her waist. She’s physically healed now, fast-regrow does that with tissue injuries, but… And she quite possibly saved Alexandra’s life, I think. That brings a surge of protective anger and grief. And she gave me good advice afterwards.

“I know, sweetlin’, I know,” I say aloud. She leans into me, looks up with reddened eyes. My own are a little moist – surprising, the first time I’ve come this close to crying for… one hundred fifteen years, my memory supplies, and I wince. There are drawbacks to never being able to forget.

“Gwen?” she says, startled into curiosity.

“Sweetlin’, I’m four hundred fifty years old,” I say. “That’s centuries of losing people; sometimes I think that’s why so few live to my age, it just gets too much to bear, even for us. Alois – we were together seventy years, and then that stupid hunting accident… children I’d watched grow, lovers… and now this. Peter was so damned brave.” I sigh and hold her while she shakes. “And Ruthann… gods damn it. But we have to live; they’d want us to. Alexa and Patrick need you, Erin; so does Alice… Hades, I need you. Don’t get swallowed by it, you hear? That’s an order.”

She sobs against my chest, and I hold her until the storm passes for now. “Erin…” She looks up at me, her face red and blotchy. “I’ve decided… I’m going to give Patrick the extra life that Peter lost.” She nods; it will mean more to her later. “Come on, sugar, you need your rest. Come on.”

I put her in Alice’s gentle hands.

**  
The yacht swings at anchor, the azure, startling blue-green water of the Caribbean flowing around us, waves tame this morning. We’ve come back, to lie off Andros, for the letting go…

I watch the ashes settle in the clear blue water of the Caribbean. Goodbye, my sweet, I say silently, tears slowly coursing down my face. Everyone has left me some discrete space, even Alexandra, bless her. She wants so badly to fix things, make me happy…I smile through the tears. I don’t think anyone, Draka or human, can fix what’s broken, darlin’, I think. 

One of Peter’s favorite songs is playing softly in the background: “If you’re goin’ to San Francisco, be sure to wear some flowers in your hair…” I’m sure you did, you beautiful goddamned queen, you…damn it, how could I lose you after all we’ve been through? The ache takes my breath away, and my head swims. I grip the railing tightly; the tiny voice whispers, You could be over the rail in a second, they wouldn’t catch you…join him, you’re damned anyway…

“Ahhh…” agony escapes through my clenched teeth in a whisper, louder than any scream. “No, no, no, no…no.”

“Erin?” Gwen’s arm slips around me, and I can smell her fresh, sharp scent; part perspiration, part just her. Part of it trying to control you, whispers the voice cruelly, and I grab my head with both hands, knuckles white.

“Child, sweetlin’…shhh…it’s not… you’ll survive…you need to, for Patrick, for Alexandra—your friends, Alice, Tom, Jennifer…for me. Come on, now, let go, come to me,” Muhmis’ soothing voice cuts through the fog of pain, incipient insanity staved off. For now, I think, and shudder in her embrace. How can I go on? I can’t stand this…

“Gwendolyn,” I whisper, my voice still not steady enough to speak normally. The small urn that held Peter’s ashes falls to the deck as I faint, unconsciousness flooding over me as my sight goes dim. 

**  
Whenever forever comes…when darkness shall hide the sun;  
I’ll still be shining with love for you…  
When glory bells chime, my love will ring true…  
Heaven and earth shall pass away, but my love  
Will be yours always…

The tender mandolin tugs at my heart, and I remember Peter and I dancing to the song, a night so long ago, now, so far away…I drift from the dream.

“Is she going to be able to play with me and Patrick, Mama?” Alexandra’s clear, high voice, elf-like, wakes me, and I hear Gwen shush her gently.

“Soon, little one. Not right now. She’s been very unhappy, and we have to be strong for her, Alexandra. It’s our responsibility to make sure she’s all right now, hmm?”

I realize they’re using Talk; I’m understanding most of what they are saying to each other. My eyes flutter open, and focus on the aristocratic, aquiline faces of my Muhmis and her daughter, next to the bed I’m in. “Muhmis?”

“Yes, Erin? Would you like a drink of water?”

“Yes.” My throat is dry and sore; I wonder why, until Alexandra says:

“Are you gonna yell anymore? Mama said if you did, she’d have to give you a shot. I don’t like those. Are you gonna come swim with me an’ Pat? He can swim, if you hold him real careful, Tantie-ma Erin… Tom showed me…”

“Patrick’s swimming?” I try to sit up, and Gwen, returning with the crystal glass of water in hand, gently pushes me back into the pillows. “He’s swimming? Gwen?”

“She gets to call you by your name, Mama? I thought saafn were supposed to call you Muhmis, and me Missy? How come she can call you Gwen?” Alexandra bounces on my bed, making me giddy. I snake an arm around her, and pull her close in a hug. She smells sweet, child sweat and sunlight, and ocean salt. She snuggles against me, purring.

Gwen says, lovingly, “Because she’s a very special saafn, my heart. Sometimes, if you like a saafn very, very much, or they do something very wonderful for you, you let them call you by your name, especially if you’re alone or just with family. Understand? It’s a really special thing. And I like Erin very much, and she put herself over you to protect you from the bad ferals, so she gets to call me Gwen sometimes.” 

“Oh.” More purrs. Gwen goes on:

“Yes, Patrick’s been swimming. Tom and Alice took him for a little dip. He loved it, a sailor born and bred. He’s fine; sleeping now, in the next cabin. Here, drink your water; Alexa, don’t bounce while she’s trying to drink, please.” Her voice is humorous, gentle.

I finish the water and hand the glass back to her. “Yelling? I don’t remember. Am I losing it, Gwen?”

“No, Erin. You’re not…losing it, if that means losing your mind. No. You were a bit confused, but that seems to have cleared up well. Your throat is probably sore, though, isn’t it?” She smiles down on me, even white teeth in the tanned, beautiful face.

“Yes, it is, actually.” Alexandra continues to purr into my ear, and I squeeze her gently, and then let her loose. She crawls over me to her mother, her gene mother, and plants a kiss on her cheek. Gwen laughs, and returns the salutation resoundingly, then puts the youngster down on the deck.

“Run along now, light of my heart. Tantie-ma Erin and I need some time together. Go play with Patrick.”

“Bye, Tantie-ma Erin…come play with us soon, if Mama lets you. Bye!” Waving, she gallops out of the cabin, a red-headed ball of energy. 

“I wish I had a tenth of all that energy,” I sigh, and sit up, pushing the pillows into a pile behind me. “You want me, Muhmis?” I try to smile, but it doesn’t work very well.

“Well, if that would make you feel any better…no, I think not right now. Perhaps later. I wanted to talk with you, though. I am concerned about you, Erin. I want to know if you need one of those alienists…ah, psychologists, you call them. I’ll get you the best there is…”

“No. No shrinks.” I pause. “Please.”

“Then how about if we just talk?”

“Okay. Ah, I’m sorry…” My voice cracks, and the tears start again, dammit. I swear at myself, swiping at the traitorous drops angrily. Gwen catches my hand, slowing it down.

“You have nothing, absolutely nothing, to be sorry for. And please don’t put an eye out whacking away at your tears. That would be uncomfortable, I’d think.” She holds my hand in both of hers, gently pressuring it. “I know you’re in a terrible amount of pain. I want to help, Erin; I don’t want to lose you. And I will, if you can’t let some of this go.”

“What?”

“I heard your subvocalization at the rail, and it doesn’t take a…rocket scientist…to figure out what you were saying no about. I’ve told you before, suicide’s not an option. No matter what you do, I’ll find you and stop you. Then, I may make you wish you were dead, but that’s for afterwards. Put mildly, you don’t ever want to find out. Understand?”

I nod. I look at her, trying to look inside her head. What’s it like in there, Goddess? Huh? You never hurt so bad you want to die, I bet… I stop that thought sharply, knowing it’s not true. She’s told me about losing her husband, lovers, children…I’m not sure I could live indefinitely like a Draka can. I’m not even sure if I want the second life she’s given me. I’m not sure I want this one.

“Gwen, I know—I won’t…I don’t think I will…it’s against everything I hold dear. I chose to serve you, to choose life. I used to think where there’s life, there’s hope, but now I’m not sure anymore. I’m sorry; I’m just a silly ole human to you, emotions running over…”

“I have more control, that’s true, but it doesn’t make my feelings any less intense. Sometimes the opposite is true; the buried, controlled feelings jump up and bite you in the ass, when you least expect it. And you know I’ve had pain in my life, too; as two sentient creatures, we can relate about that. Yes?”

“Yes, Muhmis. You’re right. Sorry…” I drop my head into my hands, and shudder. “This is harder… harder than accepting you…why? Oh, gods, why? Why not me? It should have been me…”

“That’s a painful road to nowhere, child.” She looks off, out a porthole, her own leaf-green eyes misting. “Nowhere at all. So don’t go there.”

“But I want to know—why? He never hurt anyone, never… he was such a sweet person, a wonderful man… if he’d been a woman, I’d have married him in a heartbeat. And they had to go and kill him? Why?” The raw rage in my voice frightens me, and I shake uncontrollably. If Gwen hadn’t killed them, I would have, happily. Gone mad, probably, but I would have crushed their heads, torn out their livers…

“Because they wanted to make a rebellious statement. That’s something all of you will have to deal with for right now; once they’re servus, in a generation or so, we won’t have that fear. I’ve increased security, but for now, we just have to remember it’s not a completely pacified planet yet. Security made a huge mistake letting the crowds get that close, anyway. Vulk has been…replaced. By someone a bit more competent at taking in the larger picture.” Her voice chills at the mention of security, and her eyes are cold.

She turns back to me. “Do you hate them now—the rebellious humans?”

“No…not exactly, I guess. I do hate the ones who did it. I’d be able to kill them myself, if I had the chance. They are dead, aren’t they?”

“Yes. Quite; I tore their hearts out, one by one, and watched their eyes as they died. Pity they couldn’t have lasted longer. But it was sufficient. Their bodies were fed to the ghouloons, too. Why waste good red meat on a landfill?” Her wolf-grin matches mine, and I think we’re both a bit startled by that.

My face sobers from the animal grimace: “It just hurts so bad, Gwen. I’m trying to be strong…”

“I know, little one, I know. Poor kitten, shhh…” She holds me tight, as I sob. 

A few moments later, I sit up, and rub my face. “I need a dissue. I’mb all stuffy.”

“Yes, you certainly are,” Gwen says, laughing, and hands me some tissue. “Here, blow. Better?”

“Uh-huh.” I sigh. “How are the others taking it? Tom and Peter were…very close.”

Gwen nods. “Tom said Peter was the closest he’s ever gotten to a ‘deep, meaningful, long-term relationship’. He’s cried quite a bit over it, in private. Alice and Jennifer are taking it as well as can be expected. There’s the loss of Ruthann, too, to factor in. Alice is lost without her, and needs you. I think you need her, too.”

“Oh, god, that poor girl…to survive all she did, and then die like that…”

“She never knew what happened, child. It all happened so fast, so suddenly…if that’s any consolation at all. Not much of one, but we’re a little short on them right now.” She strokes my back rhythmically, teasing out the tenseness. “She’s not suffering anymore. And she…she was growing into quite the young woman. Damn them, damn all the ferals…”

Her hands keep rubbing, but I can feel the force of her fury. “Gwen, Muhmis…do you hate us, us humans now?”

“Hate? No, no more than I’d hate a bull that tried to gore my horse, or a buddu-lion defending its kits…no, I don’t hate. However, I do despise certain humans.” Muhmis rocks me, slowly, and continues:

“Those humans who are foolish enough to think that they can outfight us, and who attempt to hurt those we have taken responsibility for…I despise them. And I’ll destroy them, each and every one.”

I put my arms around her neck, pulling her head gently down to mine. “Make me forget about the rest of the world for a while, Gwen. You can, you know. Make it go away, and be just the two of us. For a little bit. I need that, now…”

“Hmmm…not used to a wench making such a direct…mmmhh…approach, but it, ah, …yes, has its merits…”

**  
The narrow yacht bed is a little crowded, but Erin slides under me as I climb onto it on all fours. It’s good to see her taking an interest in life again; it feels a little perverse, pleasantly so, a wench using me as a distraction! That sort of audacity is one reason I like Erin. All right, she’ll get more distraction than she bargained for...

She’s urgent, hands and mouth busy to serve me; she’s learned that a drakensis body isn’t as fragile as a human and there’s a pleasant mixture of soft and hard in her touch. I relax and arch my spine into a rising bow like a cat, smiling down at her, watching the sudden impact as my pheromones activate in a swelling tide – the rush of blood to her skin, the trembling lips, her pupils flaring wide as I become the center of her existence, the heightening of her scent. It’s a pleasure to let that happen without the internal push of conscious choice, and I let them flow to maximum as my movements become hard and focused, demanding. A tide of arousal fills the narrow cabin as I shout, stiffen for long moments, then collapse on her, gripping her in a damp tangle of arms and legs. Growling softly, moving against her, feeling that old need to consume, combined wonderfully with affection and the deep sensation of yielding she has now when we’re together. I lick at the skin of her neck, her pulse pounding beneath my lips, her life between my teeth so trustingly…

“Can’t breathe,” she gasps. “Gwen, please –”

“When I let you,” I say, and ease a little, kissing her deeply. Her heart thuds against mine.

I rise, turn her over and begin kneading at the tense muscles from her calves upwards. Gently, I remind myself; just enough strength. The human’s body feels light under my hands, so vulnerable… even more now. Her mind is as open to me as her body, and easier to damage.

“Mmmm, didn’t think you were going to send me to sleep,” she purrs, as I finish with strong circular motions at the base of her skull and run my fingers through her hair, the tips pressing on her scalp.

“I’m not,” I say, and grip her legs just above the knee, pushing them wide and forward; that presents her charmingly. Differences since I bred her, but still pretty.

She squeaks at the sudden strength that moves her, and again as I stroke her with the heel of a hand. “But you do need a certain degree of relaxation for this. Easier since Patrick was born, though.”

My left hand slides forward over the damp skin of her back to grip her by the nape of the neck, just short of pain. The other clenches, fingers extended. Erin groans and slides her own hands forward, bracing herself against the front of the bunk through bunched sheets and pillows. The acceptance in that peels my lips back from my teeth in a snarling grin, exultant and tender at the same time.

I begin, and her whole body shudders; the sound she makes through a wide-open mouth into the muffling cloth brings delight that thuds from loins through gut to chest.

“Buck for Muhmis, my pretty-girl,” I whisper. “Like that, yes…”


	25. Chapter Twenty Five

Chapter 25

It’s been three months, almost to the day, I think dully, as I check the work my managers are doing. Everything seems numb; I sigh, forcing myself to pay attention to work. It, and the babies, have been the two things I’ve kept going for. If it weren’t for them…

A lock of hair flops down over my eyes, and I push it back frustrated. Pausing, I stop to look at the hair in my hands. Grey strands have shot through it, and it hangs limply in my hand. Damn, I hadn’t noticed how grey I’m suddenly getting…and I’m only twenty-nine. Jeeze…

“Hey, Erin, time for a cup of coffee?” Jennifer’s voice pulls me out of my reverie, and I look up to see her standing in front of the work table. She’s got yet another new suit on, I think, and her hair looks… fierce.

“Nah, not really, Jen. Maybe some other time,” I answer, looking back down at the paperwork.

“No.”

“What?” I look up at her, startled.

“I said ‘no’; you’re coming with me, we’re having coffee, and a chat, and then we’re going somewhere shopping. You need some new clothes, for god’s sake; all you wear lately is black. And we’re getting your hair done. It needs it. Come on.”

“Hey, listen…I’m busy, Jennifer…I don’t have time for stuff like that,” not that it matters any more, since Peter and Ruthann… “Just leave me out of your insane shopping plans, okay?” My voice is sharp.

“Listen, Erin. I’m a pushy New York broad, and what I say is what we’re doing, if I have to drag you out of this office kicking and screaming. Period. No—no more discussion. Get your damn coat and let’s go. I mean it,” she says, firing her words at me like salvos from a battleship. Her brown eyes are boring holes in me, and I give in.

“Fine, fine…Miss Pushy…we’ll go have some goddamned coffee. Then will you leave me alone?”

The drive over to the coffee shop Jennifer likes is actually kind of nice, I think, as the horse-drawn carriage moves smoothly over the pavement. I hope they’re taking good care of the horse’s hooves… Papaw was always so particular about that kind of thing… The car traffic’s almost nil; some electric sedans buzz past us occasionally, and the streetcars are packed. Lots of people out walking, too, I notice. The fall air feels brisk, a hint of the coming winter already present.

We sit down at a table by the window; I try to ignore the hulking security guards who sit near us. Two more are outside, roaming, scanning. Gwen got really serious about security for us after…after… I chase the thoughts away, and sip my plain coffee. Jennifer is plowing through her fancy something-or-other-with-cream-on-top coffee, and sits quietly, looking out the window.

“So, since I’m done with this here coffee, can we go back now? I have things to do…” I’m angry, I realize; it’s the first thing besides grief I’ve really felt, in months. It stuns me, and my voice trails off.

“Finally getting it, hunh? Angry is better than nothing.” Jennifer’s voice is soothing, and she leans forward. “We need to talk, honey. God forbid, you should take advice from me, I know…but Alice and I have been watching you, and talking with Gwen…we decided that I should get you mad enough to think again, instead of sitting shivah like you’ve been for the past three months. It’s not good for you, Erin… it can’t be. You’ve lost weight, your hair’s going grey, and you just seem…empty.”

“Thanks,” I say dryly. “Glad to know people care.”

“I do. We do; we’re your friends. And Gwen—well, she’s your, our Muhmis. She’s concerned, too. If you don’t snap out of it, she’ll have to send you somewhere, and I don’t think you want … that, do you ?”

“No, dammit!” My hands curl into fists. If only it had been me, I wail internally. Oh, Peter, I need you…

“You’re not doing his memory any favors, you know,” Jennifer says, over the rim of her cup. “You’re trying to die, too, and that’s not fair to him, your son, or to us.”

“What am I supposed to do?”

“You work yourself to exhaustion; you run for miles on the track Muhmis has set up on top of the building, and that’s it. How about living, for a change?”

“I help take care of the babies…”

“They cry when you’re around, from what Alice has said; they’re picking up on your feelings and that’s not fair, either.”

“Shit! None of it’s fair, or haven’t you figured that out yet?”

“You’re asking me, a Jewish woman, about fairness? Yehovah! Listen to yourself, Erin, just listen…”

“Oh. Yeah. I guess…I’m a little out of line…”

“You’re a lot out of line, and I’m the one to put you back inside the line. Back inside the life you had… I miss you. Hell, Erin, here I was, thinking I had finally started to make a friend out of you, a goyim Southern girl, and now all this happens… I want to be friends,” she whispers, her eyes full. “I need you to be my friend. In all this meshugge mess, I need you…I need that sense of humor back, sweet. Please, try?”

I look over at her face, seeing the brown eyes swimming in tears, the curly dark hair sweeping over her forehead. Her hands are clenched tight around the coffee cup, knuckles white. Slowly, very slowly, almost as if someone else is moving my hands, I reach for hers. Our hands meet across the table, and fold together gently, firmly.  
**

Jennifer and I are going over some networking diagrams, trying to figure out what she needs, what I have and what the available, accessible Domination technology can do better. Her needs focus around high-speed messaging, not so much data processing; she needs the network to be flexible but secure. I scratch my head, calling up schematics with the transducer’s help. A sudden memory of Peter and I, fooling around by the pool in Andros, comes up and my throat tightens. I don’t cry, though; four months of relentless self-control have brought me that victory, at least in front of anyone else.

“Everything okay, Corn-pone? You got quiet there for a minute…” Jennifer taps a pen against her notepad, looking at me kindly.

“Yeah, I’m fine. We Corn-pones do occasionally have silent moments; we’re gathering the cows, you might say…or does a Noo Yawker know what a cow is?”

“Mooo!”

We crack up; our senses of humor mesh well, something that surprised me, and her, at first. Gwen looks over from her desk, where she and Tamarindus Rohm have been silently going over higher-level things. I blush, and kick Jennifer under the table, not hard, and she glances over her shoulder at Gwen and the other Draka. I watch the blush creep up her darker-toned skin, as Gwen licks her lips slowly, invitingly…

“Hey, we need to finish this…hel-lo? Is that thing on?”

“Uh, yeah, I mean…okay. What else do you need to, um, know?” Jenny tries heroically to focus back on more mundane issues. “I mean…oy, that woman…ah, what else can I tell you?”

“Let’s go over the data flow diagram one more time, so I know I’m not leaving anyone out in left field. If I do, they’ll be the first to come screaming bloody murder at me, complaining that I left them off intentionally or something…the politics in this place are driving me batty. Maybe I should go grow heaven berries or something…” I munch another handful; they’re tart yet sweet, and absolutely delicious. Imagine the best raspberry, the best blueberry and the very best mountain-grown blackberry melded into one, nubby, about the size of your thumb, sinfully good berry. I sigh, licking my lips.

“Great. Now you’re doing it too. If you keep that up, I’m going to go to my office, and just email you for the rest of the day. Quit!” Jennifer laughs out loud again, a delightful earthy peal. I lick my lips in a parody of lustfulness, and roll my eyes heavenward.

Gwen rises from behind her teak desk, drinking the last of her coffee. “Sounds like these two wenches are having far too much fun, all by themselves. Shall we, Tamar?”

“By all means…that little wench you gave me, Dolores, is a peach. These two look… interesting, as well. I like the way each human tastes a little different, yet the same…” The woman stands, clad in a long robe, some sort of Middle Eastern looking thing; her long bright red hair free-flowing over her shoulders. She’s a bit shorter than Gwen, and possibly more finely boned, but both of them move with the grace of lifelong athletes, or the sinuous strength of a puma.

There’s a timid knock on the door, and one of the new secretaries, Barbara, sticks her head in. Seeing the two Draka, she comes all the way in, closing the door behind her, and makes her bow correctly. “Up, up… what do you need, Barbara?” Gwen gestures from where she stands, behind my chair, hands on my shoulders.

Barbara climbs awkwardly to her feet, and mumbles.

“What?” Gwen’s voice is a tiny bit sharp, and I notice the sweat trickling down the sides of the dark-haired girl’s face.

“Um, ah, Muhmis, Overlord, ah,…that is, I have a, um, visitor for Sera Erin in the waiting room.”

“A visitor, Erin?” Gwen leans down over me, and smiles. “Who’s paying you a visit?”

“I don’t know, Muhmis. I’ll go see. Be right back,” I say, as I escort the shaking Barbara out of the office. “Girlfriend, you need to have better control…she won’t bite your head off if she sees you’re trying, but if you stand there and muff things up, ain’t nobody gonna help you…”

“I’m so-so-sorry…she just scares me…they all do. Especially those big furry things. God!”

“Well, you’ve got the promotion you wanted, so now it’s time to pitch in and get over this frightened bunny thing. They’re amused by it for about fifteen seconds, and then it bores them. Bored Draka are not happy Draka, and when they’re unhappy…”

“I know. I know, we’re unhappy. Gotcha.” She smiles, tremulously, and straightens her skirt. “I’ll do better, promise, Sera Erin.”

“Good. I know you can, is all—you can do anything you set your mind on, kiddo!” I pat her back encouragingly, trying to ignore the tiny voice, whispering: yeah, you can do anything, like helping a conquering alien race take over your planet…just set your mind to it, girl, and go for it… I give myself the fourteen millionth mental kick, and school my features to look friendly and bland.

As I turn the corner, I hear a voice I haven’t heard for years. “My daughter is one of the top people here, I do believe. Her father and I are so proud, you know, you just can’t imagine. All the neighbors want pictures of us together, silly things like—darling! You look marvelous!”

“Mother.”

“Dear, dear Erin. I was just in town for a bit, and thought I’d stop by. I’ve seen you on CNN so many times, and everyone is asking for you, all your old school friends have called…it’s so…exciting. And you really do look wonderful; what have you done with your hair?”

“I don’t believe you’re here. How’d you get in?” My voice is chill. I stand, arms crossed, waiting.

“Um…how about a hug? I mean, we haven’t seen each other for so long, dear…” She waltzes toward me, her arms opening. I see the glitter in her eye; that used to scare the shit out of me. It was the ‘do as I say or you’ll have hell to pay later’ look. Her bright pink designer suit dress is far too short, and she’s gained a lot of weight in the last ten years or so. Guess she’s not taking metaboline yet, or it hasn’t kicked in.

My arms remain crossed. “I really don’t have time for a visit. I’m afraid you’ve caught me at a very busy moment, Mother.”

She stops, stunned for a moment. “But…but I came all the way up here, got past those guards and those… things downstairs…I just thought we could go have a lovely little lunch, girl-talk, that sort of thing. I know you must be extremely busy, dear, but couldn’t we…”

“I’ve said all I ever care to say to you, and to Father. Or what would you like to discuss over lunch?” My voice is going up, despite my efforts at iron control. “How about the time you broke the floor lamp across my back? Or the times you held my legs, while Father whipped the ‘sin’ out of me? How’re those for lovely conversation topics for lunch, Mother?”

“Oh…oh, my…dear, darling, those were bad times…I was afraid of your father, you know that; his temper… you can’t possibly… I mean, we had the lovely house, and you had a car… it was so nice…” She fumbles for something else to say. The waiting room has gotten deathly still.

“Nice? I don’t think so. I still have the scar from the lamp, Mother. Want to see it?”

“Dear! No! Really—let’s not talk about these unfortunate—”

“Unfortunate? Unfortunate is losing your subway tokens. That’s dropping your bagel cream-cheese side down. That’s bumping your head, Mother, when you lean over to kiss your butt goodbye. Unfortunate? How dare you.” 

“Is there a problem here, Erin?” Gwen’s smooth contralto cuts in, and I freeze.

Trying my best to control my voice and face, I say, “Muhmis, Archon Ingolfsson, please meet my mother, my biological mother, Mrs. Evelyn Kane.”

My mother tries to do some sort of curtsey, and only ends up looking even more uncomfortable than she’d been. The feathers on her hat quiver, and she nervously smiles, holding out a gloved hand. “I’m ever so pleased to make your…” Her voice trails off, and her hand hangs in midair.

“Ah, yes, one of the abusive parents. I thought about paying you a little visit a few years ago, to discuss the appropriate way to discipline a child, but Erin…dissuaded me at the time. I am not pleased to make your acquaintance, you smelly little feral. Get out of my sight. Now.”

Gwen’s voice has risen from coldly conversational to a husky roar, that makes everyone in the office, and probably on the floor, jump. There’s a rumbling growl beneath the words, and I watch the color drain rapidly from my mother’s face. She hurriedly walks backward, bumping into several chairs, purse clutched in front of her like some sort of tiny white shield.

“Do you have any parting words, Erin, before the guards…deposit her at the front doors?” My Muhmis turns to me, and smiles.

“Yes. Thank you, Muhmis.” I turn to the quivering form of my mother and continue, coldly: “Mother—you taught me a lot about mothering…how not to do it. My child, my son, will never cry himself to sleep, or limp for days from a beating. And when he decides who he’s more attracted to, men or women, I’ll support him and love him no matter what. You and Father can go to hell as far as I’m concerned. If I cared, which to be honest, I don’t. That got beaten out of me years and years ago. So get out. Don’t ever contact me again, or you’ll regret it. I can guarantee that.” My voice stays steady all the way through, and I’m surprised. Inside, I’m a boiling lava pit, my heart racing, my stomach churning.

“Oh…” Mother makes a tiny sound, and turns numbly to the two burly guards who are waiting, weapons slung from their shoulders. She seems to have shrunken in on herself; if she wasn’t such a bitch, I’d actually feel sorry for her. “Oh…”

“Please, escort this out of the building, and put her on the next available transport back to the place she crawled from…” Gwen laughs, dismissing her. The guards yank Mother by the arms, dragging her down the quiet corridor. The feathers bob on her hat as she disappears around the corner.

“Thank you, Muhmis…” I look out the huge glass windows, trying to maintain. “It was a shock… haven’t talked or seen either one for over ten years now…”

“Why don’t you go sit in my office for a few moments, collect your thoughts, and meet us in the Executive Dining Room for lunch? Say, in half an hour, sweet?” Her voice is gentle but firm. I nod, and walk into her office by myself.

**  
Six o’clock in the morning, and I’m stepping through the streets.  
The pavement’s cold and empty, got the blues beneath my feet.  
Big ole sun is risin’ up, so elegant and thin;  
Another day is over, so a new day will begin…  
And the word said: Hey! It’s a brand new day…  
Oh baby, baby, baby, I dreamed about you…  
Please tell me, tell me, tell me—what I’ve seen could not be true.  
You have taken my existence, you have filled it full of stones;  
You have turned into a stranger, now I need to walk alone—  
But I won’t be sad—but I won’t be destroyed—no I won’t be;  
No I won’t be sad, I won’t be destroyed…  
And the word said…listen to the word, listen to the word, listen to the word—  
It’s a brand new day…

Annie, you can sing it so well, I think, as I hum the tune to myself, arms crossed. Alone in the spacious office, I wander for a moment, looking out over the cityscape from the huge windows. These Draka sure like things open-plan, don’t they, kiddo, I say to myself. I watch as a couple of air cars come to a gliding stop on the roof, and see several black-clad Technical Directorate staffers emerge. I recognize them, having worked with…under, I correct myself…them in the past few weeks. The new technology they’re importing is amazing…

How could she come here, and expect a royal welcome? Why are people acting that way around me? They do the same scrape and curtsey routine around Tom, and Peter, Alice and Jennifer, and I hate it. I even feel uncomfortable with the help around the house although Marie Claire and her girls are wonderful with the baby. I’m no fool…

Or are you one of the biggest fools ever, whines the tiny, ice-cold voice in my head. Fool to believe in Gwen, in any of them…fool to think you can make a difference, somehow, like it’s your responsibility or something…fool you are, fool you’ve always been.

No! No, dammit, that’s not right, it’s not fair. I know life isn’t fair, and bad things happen to good people. Luann, my best friend in high school, her death wasn’t fair, and she was a good person, right down to her sneakers. I can make a difference; that’s what I have to focus on. I can… mediate… moderate… things. My position with Gwen lets me, to some extent…

Which one? The voice continues, snide comments from some inner demon: The one upside down, or perhaps the pony position? She likes that one…or maybe—

God, help me. I’d like to throw myself out this window if it would only shut the stupid voice up. A little self-criticism isn’t bad, but this—where does it all come from? Who is this demon voice? Stop it, stop it, please…I can’t take much more…

I freeze, hands to my head, looking in the window at my reflection. Hazel eyes, huge in anger and pain; pale face, wide cheekbones, dimple in my chin…short dark blonde hair, liberally sprinkled with grey… thin nose, tiny scars around my eyes, my ears, from the burns…from the Nimitz. Who’s the voice, I ask myself, who indeed?

Mother. Father’s in there, too, the part of the voice that hates sex with a passion. Jesus. I thought I had exorcised them, cut them out of my life with cold finality years and years ago, and here they’ve been living in my head? God help me! This isn’t self-criticism—it’s self-flaying. I’m doing it to myself.

Well, I think, if that’s true, then I know what to do. I’m a doer, not a whiner. I can either manage to commit suicide in a final, spectacular-enough way that Gwen can’t stop me or revive me…or I can deal with it. I can remake that part of myself, like learning how to walk again after surviving the sinking of the Nimitz. I’m a survivor, come what may. Fool or no, I’m a survivor.

And I have a son to think of, as well…Patrick is such a sweet baby, so lovable, so good—I can’t suicide on him, leave him with that kind of legacy. That’s worse than what my parents did to me. I can survive. Even in this world turned upside down, I can survive, and make my life have some kind of meaning. I have to.

I lower my hands, and look once again into the reflection. I whisper to myself: “You will survive. Hear me? You’ll make it. Don’t give up the ship.” Running a steady hand through my short curly hair, I try to smile. It comes out lopsided, but at least it’s a beginning. Don’t be late for lunch, girl, I remind myself, and walk firmly from the room, eyes level, head high.


	26. Chapter Twenty Six

Chapter 26

Erin is quiet this lunch. Not sulking any more, she laughs at a joke of Tom’s, chats with Jenny, and her hand holds Alice’s for a good portion of the meal. Still, I can see the effects of yesterday’s meeting with her dam, spreading out like ripples in still water. Or as if something were moving beneath the water…

Humans, I say to Tamirindus on Draka-level transducer link. I was raised among them, and I’ve lived among them these past five years, and I still don’t completely understand them.

“What in particular?” she says, pitching her voice too softly for dull human ears.

“The way their parent-offspring relationships can go haywire,” I say, crushing the claw of a lobster between thumb and forefinger, dipping the meat in the drawn butter and eating it, following it with a fresh roll.

“Dolores’ seems to have a reasonably normal one with hers,” Tamirindus says. “Allowing for differences, not unlike a servus back on the Prime Line.”

She looks fondly down below the salt cellar. The serf I gave her is laughing and chattering, renewing acquaintance with my Household. There are others there, ones taken into service with some of Tamirindus’ or my Draka subordinates.

“In fact, she visits them quite often,” she goes on. “I’ve met them myself – a bit bewildered by everything, but nice enough, for humans; Dolores is quite touchingly concerned for their welfare, and her siblings. I’ve become quite attached to her. And to John, the one I picked up in London – his family seems unremarkable enough, too. I’m thinking of breeding them.”

“Yes, and Dolores is reasonably typical, but there are so many exceptions. Erin’s used to beat her, for instance.”

“A child needs a swat now and then. They have to hit the limits of the world to learn that existence has rules.”

“No, I mean beat her.” In Talk, that’s reasonably clear – pain-with-intent-to-harm. It’s hard to say that with family pronouns, though. Our language simply assumes the primacy of genetic bonds, so she thought I was exaggerating the first time… “In essence, they were attempting to reprogram her recreational sexual preferences because they caused them social embarrassment and violated religious taboos. I suspect lasting psychological damage that’s only now coming to the surface.”

My friend’s hand halts on its way to her mouth for a moment. “Urrrk,” she grimaces. “That’s… that’s bad evolutionary strategy… endangering your bloodline.”

Another term so compact in Talk, so cumbersome in English. It is a relief to speak my own language sometimes, even if it’s no older than myself. And in Talk, that’s a comprehensive insult. Roughly equivalent to…ah, yes, the colloquial Amer-English expression is motherfucker. Or perhaps that added to screwup and loser.

“As I said… humans.” I sigh. “My own mother was… well, strange.” She knows I mean Yolande, although the term I use is not quite accurate; mother-of-the-Race. “Not as a mother, of course. But as a… a sentient being. Her emotions could just short-circuit her mind in the oddest ways. As if she could change reality simply by denying it internally often and hard.”

Tamirindus shrugs. “I know what you mean, a little; recent experience. That Domesticating the Wild Human file you put together helps a good deal… but at seventh and last, they’re unpredictable.”

“Hmmm, yes, but rewarding, sometimes.”

She grins at me. “Yes, Dolores is… I’ve never owned a servus who loved submission with quite so much intensity, if you know what I mean. They do like it, but they don’t get quite so excited about it. Very satisfying, in an anarchic sort of way; like having your soul caressed.”

“Well, that’s one aspect of what I meant,” I say, smiling and thinking back. “You’ll find there are others. Of course, there are corresponding drawbacks.” I sigh; killing Pat was unpleasant. She had such potential.

Servants bring in the sweets, a cheese board, and coffee. I take a whisky as well, Maker’s Mark – quite remarkably good. “You’ve been setting up your Household here too, haven’t you?” I say.

“Yes, a little rural place in… Kentucky, they call it. Not far from Lexington; very good horse country – I’ve acquired ten thousand acres, and I’m collecting humans and having the facilities modernized, there’s a building that will do wonderfully for the core of a manor. You must come out for the dedication party. And I’m thinking of seeding a brooder here.”

That is a delicate hint; I touch her hand, and we smile. There’s a sadness to it; we egg-merged once before, nearly sixty years ago, but the son was killed by the Samothracians during the mole hole attack. Another would cement our alliance and friendship; and together, with the autonomy the Council of Directorates decreed, we’ll be in a position to checkmate Alexis if he decides to make the Universe recognize him too emphatically. Not that I expect that; he’s too cunning, and too focused on the long-term implications of the mole hole discoveries for the Race. But you don’t survive as long as I have – or even as long as Tamirindus has – by neglecting the unlikely.

“Yes, we’re all getting a bad case of genetic greed,” I laugh. It was so dangerous to have many children, during the Long Peace. Opportunities were limited, and crowding means dueling, among our kind. “Selected the brooder yet?”

“A human; her name’s Josie. I acquired her with Devla, that sculptor you gave me – quite talented, too, and she’s advising me on the art collection. Devla’s too busy to be a brooder, though.” Tamirindus laughs, with a bit of a hard edge to it. “Devla’s been an interesting one to break to my will, but Josie… helped. Having her around, that is. I’ll give you the details sometime.” She licks her lips, and I chuckle.

“With all the private pleasures, I’m surprised the power net is ready to go on-line,” I joke.

“Oh, private pleasures energize my public responsibilities,” Tamirindus says, with an expression of straightforward wolfishness.

A thought gives me pause. I’m more… complicated, yes… than she. Probably because I was raised among humans. If a new generation of Draka is reared among the archaics here, will they be as I am? A new generation of the First, I think. Intriguing!

**

“Muhmis?”

“Yes, Erin?” She looks up from her file folder, eyes somewhat distant. She must be using her transducer, I realize, as I sink to my haunches next to Gwen.

“Muhmis, may I speak with you, or are you too busy?”

“Ah…in a moment. I need to finish these…plans. Then we can talk, Erin.” She turns away, red hair in a braid, which floats slightly. I startle, still not accustomed to the lesser gravity here in Selenopolis. Things just keep on doing stuff I don’t expect to happen…

I walk away from my owner, and to the railing. There’s an overlook here, from her office, that gives me thrills every time I gaze out over it. The drop-off is sheer cliff wall, white rock, for hundreds of feet. In the middle distance, I see gliders—people-powered kites, soaring in the gentle winds of the domed crater city. Their bright colors seem to flash like tropical fish seen as you snorkel—iridescent sheens catching the eye first in one direction, then another. Farther off, I can see some of the towers, like minarets, rising from the city itself, and impossibly tall trees. Trees with whole communities, whole city blocks, almost, encased within their green and brown clasp.

It’s like something you’d see in Mirkwood, I think to myself, and feel my heart race at the beauty of it all. These people look like deadly High Elf folk, and those are their sylvan fortresses… they are fell and beautiful, terrible all at once. And it’s so hard to realize I’m on the moon, that all this is real…

We’ve come back to the Prime Line for some major planning work Gwen is doing. Apparently all the other Planetary Archons are here, too, for the conference. I think Alexis is scared half to death that he’ll lose his power, I muse silently, very silently, to myself. Not that it matters to us humans…but it does, I realize. It does matter who’s in charge, really. If he somehow gets rid of Gwen, then…we’re in a world of hurt. The thought chills me.

“So, my peach, what did you want to speak to me about?” Gwen’s arm encircles my shoulders, and I lean back against her. The warmth from her body, always surprising, soothes me, and I sigh.

“Ahhh…well, I’ve been thinking…”

“Mm-hmm?”

“Hey! If you keep doing—ah! If you keep doing that, I won’t be able to tell you…” I wriggle, as she caresses me with expert care and knowledge. The years I have spent with her have certainly been an education in the erotic arts, that’s for sure. My pulse races, and I try to keep a clamp on it.

Gwen laughs softly, her lips next to my throat. “Ah, well…maybe you can remember later.”

“No, no—really, I wanted to talk with you. It’s taken me this long to work up my nerve, Gwen, Muhmis, please—let me talk with you?”

She grins, and inclines her head toward some marble benches by the railing. “Let’s sit, then, and talk. For a bit…”

I wait for her to sit on the bench, and sink down by her feet, close to her. I clear my throat, and wonder how to begin. This is important, Squid, so don’t screw it up, I admonish myself. “Ah, Muhmis…”

“Go on, sweet.”

“Um, well…okay.” Here goes, I think. “I’ve been thinking about the human question. The question of whether or not to modify all of us into servus…the next generation, that is…on Earth/2. I have some ideas on that, that I really would like you to hear, maybe even consider.”

Gwen looks down at my face, eyebrows raised. “Interesting. The debate two days ago that you heard? Is that what prompted all this cogitation?”

“Yes, Muhmis.” The debate had been a fairly public one, with an audience allowed; the Draka Council and the Archons had been making plans to convert the next generation of humans on Earth/2 to servus, through a tailored paravirus release. I had been there, listening, as I sat by my owner’s side. The idea had been brought up briefly, by Gwen, back before the Project was a success, but this time, the plans were more firm, more imminent.

“I heard, and wondered. You’re always talking about the human potential for creativity, and it made me curious. Here’s what I thought; try not to laugh, please, Muhmis. It’s serious to me.”

Nodding, eyes alight but face serious, Gwen murmurs, “Go on, child.”

“Okay. Back when we went on our, ah, walk on the wild side, you said that dark-haired man could be dangerous, if he was in space, since his reflexes were so good, right?” She nods again, smiling. “Well, that got me thinking. I also factored in the thing about our creativity…and our need to feel connected to something. This is what I came up with. I think that converting all of humanity to servus immediately would be a mistake, an example of over control. Instead, there are three things I think humans would be very good at, Muhmis.”

I pause, gauging her reaction. Her leaf-green eyes narrow a bit, but she’s not growling, or tensing; I can feel her muscles, hard as steel, through the hand I have on her left calf. I continue: 

“Three things. First, the constabulatory force on Earth/2. Make them feel like they’re truly keeping the peace, and they’ll be loyal. They want to feel like what they’re doing means something, and that they have some amount of power, to be frank. They have the power you Overlords grant them. There’re a lot of idealistic, caring young people out there, Muhmis, that really do want to make a difference, and this is a good way to enlist all that energy.”

“Second, how about Janissaries? I know, from reading, that the Old Domination had them. I also know that you’re developing the kawtuh, but it will be around twenty years or so, a generation for us humans, before they’re truly developed. You told me that the other night, when we were talking about Uhmis Tamarindus’ kawtuh, ah…what’s her name?”

“Talonta. Continue, Erin…this is…interesting.”

“Yeah, Talonta. Anyway…the humans that have the reflexes like that guy you…um, had…in the HardBody place—he’d be a good example of a proto-Janissary. I think a lot of men and women would sign up, for the adventure, the status, the rewards…just the chance to do something, to feel a part of something greater than themselves. Americans are big on that—crusades to save the whales, all that kind of stuff. I think you could train them to be obedient, loyal—especially if they saw serving that way as a way to increase their family’s status in the serf hierarchy. That’s important to a lot of folks. If they feel helpless to change that, then you’d do better to go ahead and turn them into servus, ‘cause otherwise, they’ll get… rebellious, especially if they think they don’t have much to lose.”

“The third thing?”

“The last one, the third thing, was that if people, humans, I mean, didn’t want to join the constable force, or the Janissaries, there’s one big frontier left, on Earth/2. Cleaning it up. I think you could create something like the CCC—the civilian conservation corps—that was developed during America’s Great Depression years, back in the 1930’s. Take the folks, the young ones, who are underemployed or unemployed, and put them to work cleaning up the mess we’ve made of the environment. You said that’s one of the big tasks facing Earth/2. They could be a sort of terraforming training crew; we’re a hardy folk, as you’ve mentioned, and we’d be good at that sort of thing. It would help people feel connected, too… as well as dealing with the employment problems and what-not.”

I wait, and take a deep breath. “Muhmis, the Samothracians…”

Gwen growls, softly, and the hairs stand up all along my neck, shivers running down my spine. “Please, I need to talk about the threat they are, and how we could…help you. Help the Draka.”

A tanned, long-fingered hand strokes through my hair, and I go on: “You need us, Muhmis. You need our human creativity, our resourcefulness. Your strength, daring, courage—your technology alone isn’t going to do the trick, where they’re concerned. I’ve thought about this—they aren’t going to like us, much; in fact, they’d probably nuke the entire planet if it meant killing some Draka. They’re not inhibited by the fact it would kill millions of humans. It can be an exploration force—a terraforming force, for your colonies, your settlements. Our creativity can help solve problems for you. If you incorporate our almost instinctual need to explore, and to belong to something, into your plans, humans can be manageable and useful.”

“Hmmm….”

“Please, just think about it—consider it. I know you don’t tell me everything; I wouldn’t ever expect you to. But you’re always honest with me; you promised me that. Think about this, Muhmis. It’s very…important to me.”

“I can see why,” she smiles, and ruffles my hair again. “I’ll…consider it. You’ve put some thought into this, that’s obvious.”

“Well, I’ve had time to think, while you’re in all these meetings. Alice and Jennifer just want to shop, and I get tired of that. It’s watching the scenery around here, and thinking, for me…” I grin up at her, relieved to have gotten safely through my carefully thought out speech.

“Ah, just looking and thinking…let’s see what else there is to do, shall we?” Gwen slips her hands under my arms and lifts me to her. I kneel astride my Muhmis, and shiver in delight as she runs her hands down my sides, my back, my ass…my tunic falls to the floor, and I trace delicate patterns across her now lightly-tanned skin, watching her eyes, her mouth. A purr rumbles from Gwen’s chest, and her lips touch mine as her hands slide up the insides of my thighs, seeking…

**

I sit back against the pillows at the head of the bed, cross-legged, sated for the moment. Alice and Erin are in the middle; holding each other, pleasuring – making love, as the humans say. It’s not quite like anything a drakensis does; not like even the tenderest taking of a saafn, nor like the friendly almost-combat with another Draka. It’s pleasant to watch, though. I listen to their words, sighs, whispers, groans, take their scent. Erin is looking better; she’s put on a little more weight, and lost much of the strained look. Good, I think with relief. I thought I might lose her; worse, Alexandra would, and Patrick. Peter’s loss was enough. There’s a time for the young to learn about the Great Stalker, but not too young, if possible. 

I remind myself to have them and Tom put on senescence-palliative treatments while we’re here. The course doesn’t take more than a day or two, most of that just waiting for the comps to design the tailored systemic repair scavengers for injection. Real, fundamental rejuvenation won’t be necessary for another sixty years or so, but there’s no reason they should suffer the consequences of aging in the meantime.

After a while they’re lying in each other’s arms, quiet. Not very sleepy, though; it’s afternoon, Selenopolis time – nothing to do with the two-week Lunar day/night, but the twenty-four-hour cycle we’ve set for the crater settlements. My apartments here are high in the Tower of Truth. This floor is a great circle cut into wedges; the walls are jade carved as fine as lacework about great round windows, laced through with flowering vines. There’s no need for much actual shelter in a domed crater, just enough to keep out rain. I look out over the city, towers white and green and black amid rainbow gardens and lower colonnades, edged with a green-blue collar of lakes and forest, shading into the glowing checkerboard of fields and beyond that the irregular palette of wilderness. The air is full of wings, crimson and tourmaline or honest brown, and I can just see a hint of the crater walls, jungle and waterfalls – invisible to a human, of course.

“You’ve been getting in some practice on your own,” I say, “since you moved in together.”

Alice chuckles and stretches, wiggling. The mild warmth and her efforts have left her full body glistening a little, and Erin is curled happily against her shoulder. Life goes on, I think. For a year after Alois died I spent my days hunting down the goblin-pack that killed him; it was welcome, especially the danger, a distraction from feelings I could delay but not, in the end, avoid experiencing. Humans are different. They savage themselves.

I command through my transducer, and a serf pads in with a beaker of lemonade and a tray of cakes, bowing and smiling as he leaves them on the sideboard. Alice and Erin disentangle and fetch me some; it’s my favorite, heavenberry with wildernuts, the sweet-tang flavor complementing the chill tartness of the lemonade wonderfully.

“So, how’s the conference been going?” Alice says.

I laugh; she’s been collecting jewelry and clothing and souvenirs. Not that she doesn’t have the intelligence to analyze, but it doesn’t come naturally to her unless she has a personal reason for doing it.

“Interesting. Erin gave me some ideas,” I say. “We Draka are wonderful for doing things, but sometimes less… inspired at thinking out what to do.”

“I did?” Erin asks, sitting up and leaning back on her hands.

“Yes. You know, the servus adaptation was the Ancestors’ idea, not ours… that was before the first generation of the New Race rose to positions of power. A compromise.” 

I look out again… The Glory of the Race is to do, to conquer in time and space and possibility. Aloud:

“The servus are lovely people, but there’s something in what you said, Erin. We might want to keep the wild gene complexes around a bit longer. I’m going to hold off on it, at least for a while; see how things develop. If Earth/2’s humanity can be fully tamed, they might be extremely useful servants for the Race… and if not, and they fail the testing, we can always do the transformation to servus later. The conservative solution is to do nothing now. Or if not nothing, less. We can do some portions of the paravirus program, just leave off the psycho-neurological portion. Correct the faults like epilepsy and schizophrenia, some cosmetic improvements, rewire the sexual-reproductive system to a more convenient pattern, that sort of thing. And eliminate that nasty tendency a few of you have to pheromonal insensitivity. That’ll leave the fundamental framework unaltered, and I think I can swing the others around, even though it means publicly changing my mind. It just never occurred to us to do other than a full conversion.”

Erin nods, and Alice looks pensive. “Speaking of breeding and eugenics,” I go on, “I’ve about decided to reproduce again. Egg-merging with Tamirindus; we did that about fifty years ago, but the boy was killed in the clashes with the Samothracians, while I was out of contact with the Prime Line. She and I get along well, and we’re working very closely together – a genetic link would be a good –” I drop into Talk, for precision. Bond-of-fates is a rough translation of the concept, but misses the nuances; alliance-against-entropy is better…

Alice looks thoughtful. “Do you want me to brood for you again?” she says. “I loved it with Alexandra.”

“No,” I say thoughtfully. “Not so soon. The metabolic strain would be a bit risky. Although I do want to breed you to Tom sometime in the next year. A daughter; it would be well for Alexandra to have a pair of humans growing up with her. Erin, I was thinking of either you or Jennifer as the brooder, and I’m inclining towards you – you’ve already gone through a pregnancy and handled the bearing very well, and Alice could help you. What do you think? I’d like your suggestions before I make up my mind.”

**  
“Ah, Muhmis…could I have a night to think on it? It’s a big…question. I’d like to turn things over in my mind first, if you don’t mind…” Inside, I’m shivering, torn between pride at her asking and horror at being a brooder, a vessel for someone else’s child. I don’t know, I don’t know, the refrain runs through my mind, although I’m extremely careful not to subvocalize anything.

“That’s fine. Tell me by breakfast tomorrow, and I’ll decide then. Good enough?”

“Yes, thank you very much, Muhmis. I really…appreciate it.” I return her smile, and she gestures for me to come close. I scoot over to her, careful not to jostle the lemonade carafe, and snuggle against Gwen’s side. Alice joins us, on Gwen’s other side; she’s a Draka sandwiched between two humans, I chuckle to myself, and she laughs out loud, the clear, vibrant, bell-like tones ringing in the room. Her laugh always thrills me, and I shiver, just a bit.

Gwen takes a drink of lemonade, and then leans into me, her lips on mine; suddenly the sweetness flows into my mouth, along with her tongue, and I gasp, swallowing. Some of the mouthful runs down my chin, onto my chest, and her lips follow it…the afternoon flows into the night, and time is suspended, in a garden of delight.


	27. Chapter Twenty Seven

Chapter 27

The palatial quarters on Selenopolis are to get lost in, as Jennifer would say, I say to myself as I watch servus unpack Alice’s luggage. They carefully, almost reverently stow everything away in a large closet, where my things are already placed. Gwen’s few belongings were unpacked first, of course, and then ours. We’re staying, apparently, in her bedchamber. Alice raises a sardonic eyebrow at me, and I shrug, raising my hands. Ours not to question why…

Ours but to do or die, whispers the voice in my head, spitefully. You’ve got that right, girl. Do or die. I frown, rubbing my forehead as if I could erase the stupid voice, although to be honest, that’s the way I’ve felt sometimes. Not so much now, but a couple of years ago—you bet. Alice walks over, linking her arm through mine, eyes concerned.

“Head hurt, cobber-mine?”

“Nah, I’m fine. Just a little tired, is all. Let’s go check on the kidlets, old girl!” I try my hardest to sound cheery and bright, but I don’t think it’s very convincing.

“Listen, you, I know you bloody well enough to know when you’re bullshitting me. Go lie down on the pallet, and take a nap. I can check on the kids myself, Erin. Rest for a bit. I know you’re tired. Go on, now—scoot,” Alice says, waving a finger at me in remonstrance.

A nap does sound like a lovely idea, I think to myself, and find myself curling up on the very comfortable pallet at the foot of the huge bed. My eyes close of their own accord, and I feel Alice covering me with a quilt. The feeling’s nice: warmth, soothing; a caring friend and lover. I fall asleep immediately, out to the world.

**  
The clarity of the dream is what tips me off—it’s another of those dreams that always end up happening. This one seems to be moving so fast, like I’m a 33 rpm person in a 45 rpm world. The sick feeling is there, the foreboding, the awful knowledge that no matter what happens now, it really will happen in the waking world. I struggle to wake up, knowing it’s useless. All my life, I’ve tried to wake from these dreams, and I’ve never once succeeded.

The city park I’m in is unfamiliar to me, and I turn around, trying to find something to get my bearings on. I hear a voice, an infinitely familiar voice, but the anger in it is different; I’ve never heard Alexa sound so coldly furious. Her voice brings my head around, and I see her, grown-up, standing near a small group of Draka.

“You’re a fool and a cretin, Tauros. And I take offense.” Her words cut like knives through an expectant silence, a dangerous silence. They ring with the weight of ritual and I’m suddenly terrified. I walk towards the group, only to stop when Alexandra’s hand signals me. I find myself obeying instantly; an angry Draka is more than I ever want to argue with. I sink to my knees, hands folded in front of me.

“One of your mother’s pets, I presume? I’ll take her after I’m done with you, Alexandra Ingolfsson. I challenge you.” The speaker is another Draka, a male, with a mohawk of white hair pulled back tightly in a tail. His eyes glitter, flashing across me, and I feel an awful sinking sensation in my stomach.

“Fine. I accept your challenge, and choose the time and place. Here and now.” Alexandra is cold, but her hair is bristling, eyes wide. I scent and feel danger. I wish I could crawl away, or wake up, or scream—

“Here and now it is. I choose bare hands, and to broken bones. Accept or be dishonored.”

“I accept.” She crouches, as he does, and they circle in the grass, growling. The other Draka move back, to where I kneel, frozen with anxiety for Alexandra. Stop this, stop this, I scream internally, but make no noise they can hear.

The boy, Tauros, leaps at Alexandra, jumping toward her with feet slashing out in a wide arc, a kick that could kill me. She parries, easily, and counter-kicks. Her foot sinks into his midriff and he sighs slightly. The group murmurs as they watch avidly. Alexandra moves in, hands and feet moving in a blur of motion. I hear meaty thuds of impact, and watch Tauros windmill backwards, fighting for his balance. There’s a moment he almost has it regained, but a blow on one of his kneecaps topples him to the ground.

He scrambles madly to regain his feet, but she’s moving even faster. She slams an elbow down into his back, and there’s a sharp cracking noise. His growl turns shrill for a moment, and hers deepens. Another blow to the lower back, and he’s on the ground, writhing in agony. His teeth are bared back to the gums, in a rictus of pain. Standing, she straddles him, and slams a heel into the back of his knee. A sound of celery ripping greets my ears, and several of the young Draka gasp audibly. Tauros’ back bows and air whistles through teeth clenched over a scream.

Alexandra moves slightly, hands still cocked for action, and waits. Her lips, inhumanly snarling, are part of a wolf-like mask of rage that I’ve never before seen her show the world. She’s barely panting; a trickle of blood has spattered across her face from a scratch. The scratch itself is already a healing pink line across her brow, where his thumb ring must have sliced to the bone, I realize.

Tauros lies silent, still twisting in pain. The crowd begins to growl Alexandra’s name, softly at first, but with more and more force to it until it’s a howling chant. She walks away from the fallen boy, striding like a panther towards the group, who howl her success. I see one young woman, though, a dark blonde woman with a thin nose, deep blue eyes…she sidles away from the group, her eyes on Alexandra. I feel a bolt of unreasoning fear shoot through me as I watch her, and she turns to look at me.

Hatred glows in those deep blue eyes, a hatred and a hunger so deep that it’s a yawning pit of despair. I know, immediately, that this is one fight Alexandra may have won, but there’s going to be a longer war to deal with. The thin-nosed woman stalks over to Tauros’ side and waits for him to lever himself to a sitting position. Maybe she’s a girlfriend, or a relative, I think, and that’s why she’s pissed off—

Thin-nose slams her hand into the side of Tauros’ head, and he slumps bonelessly to the ground, a death rattle croaking from his lips. His head is at an obscene angle to the rest of his body, and his surprised, sightless eyes stare at me. The crowd’s chant stills suddenly, and everyone looks at Thin-nose, who stands hands on hips, waiting. Staring at Alexandra with hate burning like the fires of hell in her eyes.

“What have you—”

“Fool. You’re the fool, you human-lover. You’re no Draka, nor are any of your little pack. Bunch of fools. Cater to the humans, give them jobs like Janissaries—and then sit back and let them screw things up, cause the death of Citizens. I know what you’re all about, Ingolfsson, you and your bitch mother. This isn’t over yet, I swear.” The woman looks down at the body of the boy at her feet, whispering acidly:

“This is only the beginning. I’m on the side of the Race; what side are you on, fools? At least we cull the failures from our family tree. We don’t clone them.”

“Electra Vashon, you’re making statements that are condemning you, in front of witnesses, no less. Are you mad, or just stupid? You are a Vashon, I know—that gives you some room in the stupid arena…” Alexandra grates out, and she starts to move toward the other Draka. The group around me is bristling with rage and, I realize, fear.

“I’m not fighting you today. I have other plans. Go play with your smelly little human pets, you feral-loving Samo-clone. I mean it—come any closer, and I’ll fry your guts,” Electra says, her hand producing a gun. The advancing Draka freeze and then begin to spread out, fanning out in the grass surrounding her. An air car shushes to a stop behind her, and without taking her stare from Alexandra’s snarling face, the young Draka woman steps backwards onto it, and it zips her up, past the reach of a Draka’s jumping grasp. Her laughter, cold and bitter, wafts back to us. “I have other plans…”

I sit upright, the quilt thrown off me, my body drenched in sweat. My hair’s plastered to my skull and I have a sickening taste of blood in my mouth. I open my mouth to breathe deeply, and blood from my bitten-through lip trickles down my chin, onto my blouse. My god, what was all that, I wonder, and wipe the crimson from my chin. Why do I have to have these damn dreams? Am I going nuts or something? Who’s Electra Vashon, and why does she hate Alexandra?

Weakly, I walk across the huge bedroom to the bathroom. Well, this bathroom is of Roman proportions, I think, and slowly walk over to one of the large sinks, running cold water to bathe my face. I hear Alice and Gwen come into the bedroom, chuckling over something, and my knees waver. I don’t want to talk about this, not now—she’ll just think I’m losing it…the blood drips rhythmically into the sink, staining the water pink. I look into the mirror, seeing wide hazel eyes dark with shock, with fear. With foreknowledge. A whine of fear escapes my lips, sore from the bite, and I curse myself.

“Erin?” Gwen’s voice cuts through the haze, and I feel her arms around me. “Erin? What happened? Another of those dreams? Hey, my pretty-girl, what happened?”

“Oh, crikey, she’s really bleeding. What should we do, Gwen?” Alice sounds scared; her voice comes to me as Gwen carries me easily to the bed.

“I’ve already sent for a medkit, Alice; a facecloth would be fine right now. Fetch one. Erin, talk to me. What happened?” Muhmis’ voice is soothing on one level, but I can tell she’s giving me a command. Gee, great, what do I say, I’m just going a bit mad? Someone named Vashon is going after your daughter? The ideas flash through my brain, and a chuckle, slightly hysterical, burbles past the blood on my lips.

I hear Gwen sigh, and then there’s an explosion of red and white lights as her hand slaps my face. Air huffs out of me and I reel, dizzy. I hear Alice’s exclamation of dismay from a distance. My eyes focus on Muhmis’ face, and I wait for the next blow.

“Talk to me, wench. Tell me about the dream, now, or I’ll give you a spanking you won’t soon forget. What’s this about Alexa?” Gwen’s voice is hard, cold now—commanding. I shiver, remembering the last spanking I got, and try to say something. She must have heard me talking to myself a minute ago, I think silently.

“Please…Muhmis…don’t hit me, please don’t. I’ll…tell you. I…just…it’s like I’m going crazy or something…please…just give me a minute…” I lower my head into my hands and try to breathe slowly. I can feel a hand-sized sore place on my jaw, and wonder if I’ll bruise. Great vacation, chick, you have all the luck in the world. I look up into Gwen’s level stare, and begin to tell her of the dream that will be real one day, as she’s commanded me to do…

**  
When Erin finishes, I sit back on my heels. 

“I needed to know that,” I say slowly. Erin has calmed in the telling, but she’s still shivering-tense. Her lip drips red, drops falling slowly in the low gravity, rounder and fatter than on Earth. I reach out and take the damp cloth, pressing it against her lip. “Here.”

Through my transducer I call for a medkit – speed-heal will fix it in an hour or two. A house servus drops it off, takes a look and scampers away. “Don’t be startled.” I press the oval to her mouth; it flows out to cover her lower face like a second skin, clicks, then drops back into my hand, a smooth dark egg again. The human’s eyes are wondering as she touches the wound. Only a faint glisten shows where it was.

“Synthskin,” I say. “Plus pain-suppressant and a quickhealer anti-bruising scavenger set.” Then I sigh and sink down on the edge of the bed, pulling her with me. “Alice – you need to hear this too.” She settles at my feet, eyes anxious on me and her lover; I can hear her subvocalizing worry, for Erin, and even more for Alexandra.

“First, Erin –” I put a hand under her jaw “—when I tell you to tell me something, do it. I don’t like punishing you, you know.” Her eyes drop and she nods. “You’ve adjusted so well, there are times I forget you weren’t born saafn. Remember, no secrets. You don’t decide whether or not to tell me something important, or anything at all I ask for. You’re supposed to be open to me, all the way down. I’m not an unreasonable owner, I make allowances for your upbringing – remember when you hesitated while that repulsive feral was about to shoot me? -- but you must not attempt to keep things from me. Understand?” She nods. “And something else you should know by now is that we Draka are very, very protective of our children. A threat to Alexandra is something I must know about.” 

She nods again, and I go on: “That dream… I don’t understand the mechanism, but you’re obviously tapping into something; the exact correspondences are indisputable. The dream’s quite credible in itself. There’s a… not quite a feud… an enmity between the Ingolfssons and our relatives – the von Shrakenbergs, for instance – and the Vashons. It goes ‘way, way back; back to before I was born, before my parents were born. Largely political to start with, but there are plenty of personal overtones – one thing being unaging and never forgetting does is make grudges as hardy as cockroaches. This one’s an heirloom. With the new situation, I can see how the political aspects would sprout again…”

I close my eyes and think. “Given what we know now about the multiverse, I don’t see how your dreams can be completely predestined,” I say. “More likely, they’re shadows cast by a very close timeline, but in the future. Theory says we can’t access our own future or past, but there must be many lines so close – identical except for the location of a grain of sand on Mars – that the mole holes in the quantum foam could… and the brain operates on a quantum level… hmmmm. So the events foretold would tend to come about very strongly, unless one acted on the knowledge… This might explain oracles and prophetic dreams, a core of truth amid a sea of fakery and superstition that disguised it…I must get some first-rate physicists and psychobiologists looking into this.”

I look up and meet the worried gazes. “We’ll all have to think about what could be done. But we’ve obviously got at least twenty or thirty years to plan.” I sigh, and put an arm around Erin’s shoulders. “Don’t worry for now… acha, I forget, you humans can’t help worrying, can you? Well, do your best.”

She shudders. “I’m… whenever I have those dreams I’m afraid of going crazy… of people thinking I’m crazy, too, if I say anything. Muhmis, it’s hard for me to talk about them – I wish so hard they didn’t happen.”

I frown at her, puzzled. “Erin, if your brain chemistry went out of order, I could smell it… and have it fixed. If I thought you were saying something stupid, I’d just tell you so – and possibly order you to shut up about it. Since I haven’t done either, you’re going to have to get over this reflex of yours.”

Erin surprises me by laughing, and so does Alice, with a rueful note. At my raised eyebrows, Erin speaks:

“Muhmis, there are times I forget how… different you are. I’m human, I can’t just, ummm, order myself to stop feeling a certain way. Not after years and years of fear and uncertainty.”

I press the heel of a hand to my head. “You’re right; I was just reminding myself of that.” I rise and shake myself. “Let’s have some music. I feel like dancing.”

**  
What’s the matter, Mary Jane, you had a hard day /As you place the don’t disturb sign on the door/You lost your place in line again, what a pity /You never seem to want to dance anymore/It’s a long way down/ On this roller coaster /The last chance streetcar/ Went off the track/And you’re on it…

I hear you’re counting sheep again Mary Jane /What’s the point of tryin’ to dream anymore?/I hear you’re losing weight again Mary Jane /Do you ever wonder who you’re losing it for?/Well it’s full speed baby/ In the wrong direction /There’s a few more bruises/ If that’s the way/You insist on heading…

Please be honest Mary Jane /Are you happy? /Please don’t censor your tears…/You’re the sweet crusader/ And you’re on your way /You’re the last great innocent/ And that’s why I love you/So take this moment Mary Jane and be selfish /Worry not about the cars that go by/All that matters, Mary Jane, is your freedom— /So keep warm, my dear, keep dry/Tell me, tell me/ What’s the matter, Mary Jane….

I hum the tune, an Alanis Morissette one, to myself as I sit down on the deck chair. It’s quiet out; the soft sound of wind rushing thru the pines below the house comes to me as I sit alone on a patio. The dome above is brilliant with Earthrise, and I watch as the blue-green-white crescent climbs in the night sky. I can see pinpricks of light on the planet, marking the sprawling, humongous cities of the Draka like diamonds scattered across a darkened dance floor.

What do I want to do? Do I really have any say-so in the matter? The thoughts worry at me, like a puppy with a rag toy, and I sigh, closing my eyes. Life used to be so simple, so easy—and now, all these changes. Peter’s gone; oh, gods, how I wish I could ask his advice right now. I depended on him for so much; the void aches constantly, despite my best efforts toward healing.

Maybe the loss never goes away, I think to myself. Maybe it just…maybe you just get used to it. It never really diminishes, or stops. But you can’t let it poison yourself, girlfriend. You’ve got too much to live for, a son, friends, Muhmis—I can’t just drop all that off somewhere. Got to keep on keeping on, somehow. Which puts me, I remind myself firmly, right back at square one. What to do?

I admit I was surprised as hell when Gwen asked me to think about being a brooder for her. She didn’t have to ask at all, I know. That’s the part that makes me feel all shivery and cold inside. But she did, and I need to have an answer for her by breakfast. Do I really want to bear another species’ offspring? Oh, yeah, great way to put it, runs through my mind, and I wince. But that’s one way of looking at it. The baby wouldn’t be yours, not ever—she’d just incubate inside you, like those things in the Alien movies…

Shaking myself, I give my mental monologue voice a silent cussing out. That’s not like the way it was for Alice at all; stop trying to scare yourself. There’s enough here, around all these Draka, to be scared all the time, every day, for the rest of your life, without inventing stuff from horror movies. You’d be a surrogate mother. It’s not going to burst out of your chest and skitter across a table, for god’s sake. It’s a baby, a beautiful baby like Alexandra and Patrick. 

Well, not like Patrick. Let’s be honest. It is a Draka baby, a different species than human. Okay, admitting that, what’s so awful? It certainly did Alice no harm. Either physically, mentally, or in terms of her social standing, old girl—have to acknowledge that, too. And, because you have a fairly unique Draka owner, one who knows more about handling humans than most of them do, you have a decision to make. She could have just had you strapped to a table and pop! In goes the Draka equivalent of a turkey baster. The thought makes me a little ill.

The point being—she didn’t, when she could. Another point—she’s been damn good to you, these last few months, when you’ve been walking around in a daze, after losing Peter and Ruthann all at once. You’d have plenty of support from Alice, too—

Alice, Alice. There’s a whole ‘nother kettle of fish, no pun intended, thank you very much. We’ve so enjoyed living together. It’s great to be able to be so close to someone again, and this time someone I can physically…enjoy. She’s a wonderful lover, firm and gentle at the same time. She enjoys being in charge that way, and I enjoy being taken care of that way—it’s so different from when Gwen takes me. There, the power is overwhelming, frightening, erotic, almost addictive. With Alice, it’s different. It’s something that centers me, calms me. I think it might even be healing me, and her. I think, too, that the depth and direction of her feelings toward me really surprised her. She was wary at first, having been through so much, but now that she truly trusts me…

That’s the thing. We trust each other. I’ve learned to trust Gwen, too. I can’t say that I love her, like I love Alice, or even Tom. Certainly not in the way I love my son. But the feelings I have for Gwen run deep, now, and have stayed consistent for a long time. Occasionally, she’ll do or say something that shocks me, or makes my blood run cold, and that’s when I feel the great distance between our minds, our beings. But there are times, too, when I can feel a sense of relatedness, of a shared feeling, between us that thrills me to the bone. She’s sort of—above my love, in a way. I feel for her the way Sam felt about the Elves in Lord of the Rings—they’re terrible, beautiful, wonderful, but a bit beyond my likes and dislikes, so to speak.

So, my hobbit-girl, what do you want to do, I ask myself. It’s growing chilly, here in the moments before the dawn of a new day, and I cross my arms. What’s the answer to Gwen? How should you decide? You trust her, you’ve figured that much out. Now what? For a few long minutes, I sit quietly, meditating, finding the center of myself, the calm place I’ve learned to cultivate. My eyes open finally, and I realize the decision’s made.

Walking inside, and sliding the door shut softly behind me, I wonder if I should even go back to bed. It’s almost time to rise and shine—awful phrase that is—and it wouldn’t be fair to wake Alice just before she has to get up anyway. I hear, with a mother’s preternatural acuity, the soft hungry whimper of the babies, down the corridor, and I amble that way. Someone’s going to have breakfast with me, some two if I hear rightly.

I don’t wake the sleeping nursery attendant; she’s curled up in a blanket-covered ball at the foot of their cribs. Making soft shushing noises, I lift Alexandra—heavy old thing she is, in one arm, and then hoist my swabby boy up with the other. “Come on guys, let’s go find some grub in the galley!” I whisper to them, and they giggle.

“Don’t want no grubs—they’re bugs. Can I have pancakes an’ syrup, Tantie-ma Erin?” Alexandra whispers back, eyes sparkling. I nuzzle against her sweet-smelling red curls and laugh quietly. Patrick’s grinning, licking his lips at the thought of maple syrup.

“Let’s see what we can find. If I can figure out the food machine thingy, we’ll have pancakes and maple syrup, and toast, and milk, and juice…” I walk them to the kitchen, and by the time we get there, they’ve added their own requests to the menu: malted milk balls (a new fave of Alexa’s, apparently), Kool Aid, ice cream, French fries, French toast, scrambled eggs, Doritos… We’re all laughing at the mess as I plunk them carefully down in some chairs, and look around to see what’s what in this huge kitchen. The flagstone floors are cool beneath my feet, and I feel goose bumps all over. Brrr…should have put some sandals or slippers on first.

“I want a steak, like Mama had the other night, a big one, all juicy…”

“I want ice cream, choc’layt ice cream, Momma…”

“I want some slippers…”

“Race Spirit, what a noisy breakfast bunch we have here,” Gwen says, leaning against the doorframe, terrycloth robe on. She catches Alexandra in mid-leap, and they twirl around the kitchen, laughing uproariously. She pauses to snatch Patrick up, and then continues dancing with the two giggling children. Finally, with them breathless and a little dizzy, she puts them back where they’d been sitting and walks over to where I’m standing, looking in puzzlement at some of the kitchen hardware.

“What do they usually eat for breakfast, sweetlin’?”

“Um, usually milk, cereal, toast, juice, fruit, some grits…but I had a special—mmmpphh!” Her lips on mine, I find my feet off the floor, a hand under my behind, another hand being rather friendly…

“Eeeeuuww—mushy stuff!” comes the shrill chorus from the table, and through her kiss, Gwen starts laughing. She sets me down gently, and waits for me to regain my composure.

“Ah…okay. Um, let’s see…oh, yeah, special request for pancakes and maple syrup.”

“An’ choc-layt ice cream!”

“And malted milk balls!”

Gwen looks over at the children, wondering, and I tug at her arm. “No, no—that’s their latest craze food of the day. Maybe later, guys, but let’s eat breakfast food for breakfast, okay? How do you order it, Muhmis? I’m not used to this doohickey.”

“‘Doohickey’?! Like this, darlin’,” Gwen replies, and quickly orders breakfast for all of us from the fabricator. In seconds, plates of steaming hot pancakes emerge. They’re square, like griddle cakes, I think, but after one bite, I decide these’re better than Eggos! The syrup tastes very good, and so does the coffee. I bring over more plates to Gwen’s side, and she digs in—Johnny cake, grits, some muffins, juice. I finish my meal and help the kids with theirs. Cleaning up sticky faces and fingers afterwards takes a few minutes, and I send them trampling noisily and happily back to the nursery, to wake their nannies and get dressed.

“Hmm..good breakfast. Thanks for helping, Muhmis. I’ll get the hang of it one of these days,” I grin, sitting down at her side after refilling our coffee mugs.

“Yes, not bad. It’ll just take some practice; you can set up little macros in your transducer to handle most things like this. It makes things much easier,” Gwen sighs, leaning back in the chair and putting her linen napkin down.

“It’s time, isn’t it, that I told you what I think, right, Gwen?” My voice grows serious and she nods, sipping her steaming-hot coffee.

“The agreement was actually before breakfast, but no mind. We were having fun with the cubs. So, Erin, what do you think?”

I pause, hands white-knuckled around my warm coffee mug. The decision’s made, I say firmly to myself. Just do it. Holding her leaf-green eyes with my hazel ones, I get up from the chair and sink to the floor on my knees next to her. I put my head gently on her knees, and gather my courage.

“Muhmis—Gwen—I’d…I’d like to be your brooder. It’s not a thing I decide on lightly. It means a lot to me, and I know it means something to you, too…” I look up at her, noting the broad smile across her face. She cups my head in her hands, tender-strong, and leans down, kissing me firmly on the mouth. When we break for air, I go on, softly, my voice quavering.

“You’ve been good to me, thru the last few months, Gwen. And I…trust you. I don’t know any other way to say it. I belong to you now, and it’s slowly beginning to feel…like something I can live with. I have you, and the babies, and Alice, and—oh, everyone, like Jennifer, and Tom, and Shawonda. I didn’t know…if I’d make it past losing Peter, but you…you were there for me. And so were my friends.”

I stop, tears trickling slowly down my face. I wish I didn’t get red in the face when I cry, part of my mind comments hopelessly, and Gwen chuckles. Tenderly, she picks me up, and sits me on her lap, cradling me. “Ah, my sweet, sweet little red-faced saafn—I was worried about you. But I know how strong you are, that you’re a survivor. And I’m so glad you made my decision easier. You’ll be my brooder now, and Alice and all the others will help you. Shhh, my sweet peach, no tears now, unless they’re tears of happiness. I’m very…fond of you, Erin, very fond indeed.” She rocks me, purring deeply, and my heart throbs, caught between pain and joy.

**  
“So,” Erin goes on after a while, when she’s more in control of herself. “Ah… what’s it like?”

I chuckle, pouring myself another cup of coffee. It would be wasteful to have full-time kitchen staff here, a place so seldom occupied, and objectively speaking a molecular assembler makes the same coffee that roasting and grinding beans grown and picked would… still doesn’t taste quite the same to me, objectivity be damned.

“Hmm. Well, actually, Alice would be a better source there – she’s experienced it; all I know is theory and observation.” I pause for a moment. “The actual seeding will be different for you, though; I was using improvised equipment for Alice. You lie on something like a birthing table, the catheter’s inserted, and the ovum is. It’s usually a quiet ceremony… incidentally, it’s customary for the brooder to bed with both parents beforehand.” I grin. “I don’t think that’ll be any hardship. Actually, Tamirindus and I are doing two, one for her Household to raise and one for mine… be a bit unusual, Alexa having a sibling so near her own age. Or maybe not, the birth-rate’s going ‘way up.

“The pregnancy itself won’t be all that different from the one you had. Possibly some morning sickness early on, but that will fade quickly. You’ll feel… mellow, during it; you must have noticed how Alice was. No mood swings this time, we’ve improved on the natural process; not dazed, just a steadily increasing feeling of relaxed well-being. The actual birth will be easier than Patrick’s; a drakensis baby is relatively smaller than a human one, although of course you’ll have to take diet supplements until the baby’s weaned. I know you’re a good mother, of course; that was an important reason I had you and Jennifer on the short-list for this. It’s not just a matter of being an incubator, Erin – we could use a machine for that. You’re going to be the primary caregiver for the child’s whole infancy as well.”

I lean over and stroke her hair, holding her eyes. “It’s… a family thing.” 

Then I pause, my chin resting on one hand. “I’m of two minds about breeding Alice right away… on the one hand, I do definitely want a child of hers and Tom’s, on the other I’ve got two centuries for that; on the third hand, I do want another human infant around about the time the baby’s born… perhaps Jennifer instead? Or Shawonda, or Benazir... Hmmm, I’ll ask Alice. Or, come to that, you and Alice can have a baby together, that would do nicely – egg merging. Alice would have to bear it, of course.”

“What’s all this asking Alice?” my brooder says, coming in yawning. “Gawdalmighty, but you’ve gotten consultative, Muhmis – can’t recall you asking me about brooding for you, not that I minded, of course. Hi, love,” she goes on to Erin with a grin. “Thought you’d be up early. Volunteered, didn’t you, sport?”

“This still isn’t a democracy,” I say dryly, then surrender and smile back at her. “Ah, Tom; you’re going to have another couple of youngsters getting under foot,” I go on, as he comes in with Andri; they’ve gotten very friendly; they make a very good team in bed, too.

**

The bedroom’s quiet, but light is beginning to stream in through the windows… dawn’s coming. Alice and I have decided we’re both night people, and spent most of last night, well, making love. I feel relaxed, warm…but I need to talk things out. All that’s happened in the past day wells into my mind, and chases dreams and sleep alike away.

“Alice, let’s talk…” I sit up in bed, brushing my hair back from my face.

“Mmmh…couldn’t we…”

“No…eeak—hey, hey—please? Can we talk for a bit? I need to…” I grin down at my lover, and she laughs out loud.

“Okay…so, what’s up?” Alice props her chin on her arms, cocking her head to look up at me quizzically. “Being a brooder?”

“Well, yeah…a little. There’s something else, too.” I stroke her wheat-blonde hair, and continue. “What’s it like? I asked Gwen about it, and she told me about the mechanics, but…what’s it like from a human perspective, Alice?”

“It was…wonderful, once I adjusted. She sort of sprang it on me, y’know. You remember; you were there…I sort of staggered around for a few days, scared, horrified…but then things changed. I accepted it, and then things felt…wonderful. The only thing I can compare it to is the lazy, floating, warm feeling I get after we…you know…”

“Oh!”

“Yeah! That good. Having her, having Alexandra, wasn’t a terribly painful thing, either. And I feel like I’m close to her. That feels wonderful, too.”

“Gwen said it was a…family thing. What’d she mean, really?” I wrap my arms around my knees and rock a little.

Alice smiles, “What she means is that the brooder becomes part of the family—a very special position. Your descendants will probably be brooders for Alexandra, and on, and on…that sort of thing. It’s like being taken into their family, of course as a serf, but as a special one.”

Hesitantly, I broach the subject: “Are you jealous that she wants me this time?”

“Jealous? Naw. I’m not jealous of you—that’s silly. It’s like…I know my position is secure, as secure as any a serf can expect, I guess. And actually, I’m glad for you. Now we’ll be on a more equal standing, in terms of pecking order. And I’m proud of you, glad you chose what you did. I know Gwen’s happy about it, too.”

“Okay. What do you think about the egg-merging thingy? Do you want to do that?”

“Yes! I’d love to do that, Erin. God, can you imagine, a kid with both our traits? She’ll be a little hurricane! It’s…it’ll be great. I really want to do that,” Alice says, sitting up, pulling the quilt around her. Her eyes seek mine out and hold them. “How do you feel about it? This time, we sort of have a choice in the matter, not like when you and Peter…well, y’know…did the wild thang with Gwen, and Patrick was the result…”

“I want to. That leads me to the other thing, Alice.” I’m quiet for a few moments, gathering my courage, my strength. This is scary, I think to myself, really scary! What if…oh, to hell with it—ask the woman!

I get up off the bed, and walk around to its side. Facing Alice, whose eyes are wide now with curiosity, I kneel on the woven rug, and take her hands in mine. “Alice—”my voice cracks, and I clear my throat. “Alice Wayne d’Ingolfsson, will you…will you marry me?” Her mouth pops open in surprise. I rush on, regardless:

“You’re the dearest friend I have; I love you. I love you and trust you, darlin’. You’re the other half of my world now. I always hoped I’d meet you, and now, in the midst of all this craziness, I have. Please, share my life, my time here…marry me.”

So softly: “Erin…”

What if she says no? Great, you’re a schmuck…you fool…she’s gonna tell you she likes you but she’s not in love with you, that horrid old line…you used it once, yourself, dog…oh, jeezie petes, what do I do? The thoughts flash through my mind, and I hang my head, blushing deeply, feeling hopeless.

“Erin—look at me, you silly sheila! Look—” Alice pulls my chin up, holding me firmly between thumb and forefinger. “Dear, dear, Erin—yes. Yes! I’ll marry you…God, yes. I love you, trust you so much…I’ve dreamed of meeting someone like you. I just thought it would be a guy, girlfriend. But that doesn’t matter—I love you, all of you. You’ve anchored me,” she says, her voice trembling a little. “You gave me a place to scream, to let it all go—and you loved me through it all. I’m healing. I never thought I could, I would…but I am. And I want to be with you for the rest of my life.”

At her gentle but firm urging, I climb up into bed next to her, and our lips meet…my heart singing…the dawn comes bursting in at the windows, and we greet it with fireworks of our own making.


	28. Chapter Twenty Eight

Chapter 28

I had no choice but to hear you/ You stated your case time and again/ I thought about it/You treat me like I’m a princess/ I’m not used to liking that/ You ask me how my day was…/You’ve already won me over, in spite of me/ Don’t be alarmed if I fall, head over feet/Don’t be surprised if I love you for all that you are/ I couldn’t help it…it’s not my fault/Your love is thick and it swallowed me whole/ You’re so much braver than I gave you credit for/That’s not lip service…/You’ve already won me over, in spite of me/ Don’t be alarmed if I fall, head over feet/Don’t be surprised if I love you for all that you are/ I couldn’t help it…it’s not my fault/You are the bearer of unconditional things/ You held your breath and the door for me/Thanks for your patience…/You’re the best listener that I’ve ever met/ you’re my best friend/Best friend with benefits…what took me so long?/I’ve never felt this healthy before/ I’ve never wanted something rational/I am aware now, I am aware now /You’ve already won me over…

My heart and mind are singing; I can’t believe she said yes…and the morning that followed our talk was…divine. The best we’ve ever had. I still feel all tingly as I walk down the corridor, to check on the others, to see what today holds. Gwen and Alexandra burst out of a room, chasing each other, and Patrick follows in their wake, vainly trying to keep up. Their playful noise—growls, purrs, giggles—greets me as they come down the hall toward me. Gwen gives Alexa a look, and I have just enough time to wonder what that meant, and then I’m pounced upon by two Draka, a big one and a little one. My son finally catches up and shrieking with joy, joins the pile on the carpeted floor.

“Gahh! Urf…hey, hey—no fair, you’re tickling—ooohhh…” I laugh, trying to twist free, and Alexandra’s playful snarl in my ear makes me suddenly remember the dream…the smile runs away from my face for a moment, and Gwen pauses in her tickling. She lifts Alexandra from me, and swats her gently on the fanny.

“Run along now, and get dressed, light of my heart. We’re going shopping today…you, too, Patrick—go tell your nannies to get some clothes ready for you, hmm?” The children scamper happily back into the nursery, Alexandra leading Patrick by the hand, chattering about what they want to get on the shopping trip already.

“Sweetlin’, are you all right?” Muhmis looks down at me, and extends a hand. I grasp it and sit up, sighing.

“Yes…yes, Muhmis, I’m okay. I just…flashed back to the dream I told you about, when I heard her snarl in my ear. I know she’s just playing…but I couldn’t help but think…” I shake my head, trying to shake the shivers out, the creepy feelings. I look over at Gwen, who’s sitting on the floor next to me, one leg still between mine. She leans against the paneled wall of the hallway, her red hair hanging loose and unbound, her leaf-green eyes steadily gazing at me.

“We’ll work on that…try not to worry, darlin’, I know…I know you can’t just put it out of your mind, like I can. But try, all right?” Gwen leans over and kisses me, firmly, on the mouth. “Hmmm... you and Alice have been having fun this morning, haven’t you?”

“I took a shower! Gosh—” I blush.

“Oh, I know, I know—I can just scent it, that’s all,” Gwen laughs, her husky bronze-like voice ringing down the corridor. I watch her face, and think about mountain lions, but warmth floods through me as I gaze at her, and I smile up into her face.

“Oh, good—I thought maybe I was…snarfy or something,” I say, kissing the tip of her nose. “I do have something to ask, Muhmis…”

“Let’s go eat breakfast, and you can ask me then. More comfortable than the floor, hmm?” She springs to her feet in one movement, and tugs me up effortlessly beside her. Her hands stroke my sides, my back, down…as she explores my mouth with hers. Knees weak, I lean into her embrace, and try to keep my mind on what I wanted to ask…

“Heyo, that looks fun!” Alice merrily sings out, and puts her arms around both of us. Gwen chuckles, sliding one arm about Alice’s waist, pulling her close, and shifts her kiss from me to Alice, who gasps, then groans softly.

Gwen chucks us both under the chin, gently, and walks us down the hall to the breakfast room. Servus have set the table, and we assume our seats down the table from Gwen. Tamarindus comes in a few moments later, Tom and Andri hand-in-hand with her. “Morning, all!”

“Good morning. Try this soufflé, it’s marvelous…” Gwen winks at the men, who both grin and sit down across from us. Tamarindus pauses as she walks past Gwen to take her seat, and they kiss. Long, hard, bruisingly strong, the kiss takes my breath away, and I’m several feet away from the two Draka. Didn’t Gwen say something about the donors bedding the brooder…oh, my gawd…my knees turn to quicksand, and suddenly I’m aware of the gazes Tamarindus and Gwen both turn on me. Gwen licks her lips, delicately, and Tamarindus wolf-grins at me.

“That’s the one you’ve chosen, Gwen?” She sits down, unfolding a linen napkin into her lap, and begins to load her plate.

“Mmmhhh…yes.” Their eyes meet, and I realize they’re probably talking about me. Alice’s foot strokes my calf, and I jump, dropping a muffin onto my plate. Tom and Andri laugh, as does my lover, and I blush furiously. There’s a welcome distraction as the nannies bring Alexandra and Patrick in for their breakfasts, and we’re bombarded with questions and requests for the shopping trip for the rest of the meal.

**  
As we walk out of the mansion, past flowering red and white groundcover and long, purple and green vines hanging from a trellis, Gwen motions me forward, to join her and Tamarindus. I hear Alice chuckle as I walk towards the two Draka, and I turn around and stick my tongue out at her, briefly. She raises her eyebrows and returns the gesture.

“Yes, Muhmis?” I catch up to the strolling women, and look up into Gwen’s aquiline, aristocratic face. Her tan’s adjusting; it’s less dark than it was on Earth/2, I realize, and feel her hand envelope mine. My other hand’s taken by Tamarindus, and I wince a bit—she’s forgetting, possibly, that I’m a human…I glance up into her face, framed by bright red hair, and wonder.

“Oh, sorry—didn’t mean to hurt you, youngling…” Tamarindus laughs softly, and loosens her grip on my hand. “Forgot there for a moment…”

“You said you had something to ask me, Erin?” Gwen’s deeper voice swings my head around to face her. She’s smiling gently, and squeezes my hand in a knowing way, careful not to be too strong.

“Um…yes, Gw-ah, Muhmis. Ah, I was wondering…” How do I say this, kiddo, I wonder to myself. “Well, it’s that…it’s like…ah…”

“Race Spirit, girl, spit it out!” Gwen chuckles.

“May Alice and I marry, Muhmis? Get married? I figured we had to ask your permission…”

My Muhmis’ face is mobile with surprise for a moment, and then she leans down and kisses my forehead, her lips so hot on my skin… “Why, yes…how lovely. When did you two decide that’s what you’d like?”

“We can? Hey, Alice—ah, we decided this morning, Muhmis.” I grin up at her.

“Hmm…your two brooders, partners…that’ll be good. Fun, too, don’t you think, Gwen?” Tamarindus smiles over my head at her friend, who returns the look and the smile.

“Oh, yes. It’s sure to be…interesting. Both of them are fine mounts, by the way. Well trained and creative…fast learners, too. We’ll have fun. Won’t we, Erin?”

“Um…yes, Muhmis,” I agree, blushing deeply.

“Charming…” purrs Tamarindus. “After the shopping trip, before, or during, Gwen?”

Their laughter rings out into the valley below us, as we reach the waiting floaters.

**  
“After, I think. Anticipation makes the heart grow hotter. By the way, Erin, Alice, if you’re to mate long-term, do you want some sort of ceremony, a feast, a party, a public announcement? People generally do here, Draka or servus. I presume that would be back on Earth/2, where your friends are. We could have it right after Erin’s seeded – and you, Alice, with your and Erin’s child. Then you can go on a… honeymoon, you call it, don’t you? Say a week; we can spare you both that long, we’ll be doing policy meetings, implementation on the rulings of the Archonal Council here. Sssaa, I know – I’ll get you a small suborbital air car run up as a, hmmm, wedding present, and you can tour.”

**  
The children are wild with excitement; they love going on these adventures, I think, as I watch the two of them bounce up and down on their seats. We’re flying to Selenopolis and Alice’s as excited as the kids are, for the shopping. Marie Claire and her helpers are going to have their hands full today, that’s for sure. Patrick comes over to me and climbs into my lap. “Can I get toys, Mama? More toys? I want to get a talking cat! Can I have one?”

“We’ll see!” I hug him tightly and he squeals a bit, giggling. “If you’re a good boy, and don’t give Marie Claire grey hair today, we’ll see, okay?”

“Yeah! Yeah, Mama! I’ll be good, you bet!”

Alexandra bounds over to join Patrick on my lap and I hear for the next several minutes a shopping list that would make Bill Gates a poor man. The children have learned that money’s usually no object for them, I think to myself, maybe they need to be brought back to orbit again…maybe an allowance or something? Have to ask Gwen. “Hey, buckaroos, time to settle down in your own seats for a bit. I think you’ve squished me…”

“No, we didn’t, Tantie-ma Erin!”

“Uh-huh! We wouldn’t squish you, Mama!”

“Well, that’s a nice thought from you, but I do feel a bit overwhelmed by all this love here, so maybe your seats would be better. How about it, kids? Migrate—vamoose—run along now! I’ll give your shopping lists more serious thought if I can breathe, y’know!”

They laughingly scamper back to their seats, Alexandra’s curly mahogany red head leading the way. Patrick’s tousled black hair reminds me so much of Peter; a pang of the pain of losing him rips through me unexpectedly, and I stare out the side of the aircar for a moment, waiting for my eyes to stop tearing up. If only…ah, gods, I miss him so much, still…it’s like part of me is missing, or amputated, and the nerves still twanging…

Gwen sits down next to me and runs a long-fingered, tanned hand through my dark blonde hair. Gently, she turns my face to hers; her eyes seem to draw mine irresistibly, and I sigh. 

“What’s wrong, sweet? Why so sad?” Her slightly husky, bronze-like voice, softly pitched, sends thrills down my spine. She cups my chin in her palm, and raises an eyebrow. “Hmm?”

“Ah…nothing, Muhmis. It was just a bit of… grief, I guess. Every once in a while, it hits me when I least expect it…I miss Peter so much…sorry.”

“Nothing to be sorry for, darlin’. I miss him too,” Gwen whispers, pulling me close. I snuggle against her steel-strong muscles, feeling the heat pouring from her body, the strength she’s so careful with when she’s holding me…if only, if only, my mind thinks, and I close my eyes as my face rests against my Muhmis’ neck. Her hands stroke me gently, rhythmically.

A few moments later, I sit up, and smile, shyly. “Thanks. I needed that.”

“I know.” A white-toothed grin replies to my smile, and Gwen chuckles. “Hugs are…nice, sometimes.”

“Yes, Gwen, they are…” I’m at a loss for words, and spread my hands.

She leans over and kisses me, firmly, her tongue flicking past my lips. I shudder with pleasure as she touches me, precisely, delicately…knowingly…

“Ah, Gwen…the kids…please, ah, Muhmis…” I hear Gwen chuckle into my ear, and she whispers:

“Later, then, my pretty-girl…later, with your Muhmis and Tamarindus…mmmhh, yes…”

Tamarindus calls from the front of the aircar: “Gwen, anyplace in particular you wanted to land? Any shops in mind, or should I just fly around for a bit? We’re here…”

“Ah, good, Tamar—let’s land at the Great Park, and we can do our shopping from there. Sit down, Alexandra, Patrick—we’re going to land in a moment.” Gwen kisses me again, and the kids make “eeuw” noises. We grin at each other and then Gwen stands, stretching. She walks to the front of the aircar, joining her friend at the controls.

Alice looks up from her magazine and smiles fondly at me. “Ready for some power shopping, Erin?”

“As ready as I’ll ever be, I guess…if it gets too much for me, maybe I’ll just hang out at this Great Park place they talked about…” I put my book into my book bag, cinching it shut as the aircar sinks smoothly to the star-flowered grass below us. Trees zip past and then with the slightest of bumps, we’ve landed. I’m still not used to this lighter gravity, I think; not sure I ever will be, honestly. The children are already bounding out of their seats, while Marie Claire and her assistants gather up toys and books. 

The side of the aircar opens, responding to a command from one of the Draka, and it then thoughtfully extrudes a ramp to the grass. Gwen and Tamarindus ignore the walkway, leaping down from the hatch, as agile as mountain lions. Tamarindus pauses, looking up at me as I stand in the doorway, looking over the park.

“Here, Erin…” She extends her arms and nods at me. Her bright blue eyes hold mine, and I feel the command in them. I trust Gwen enough to do this, but do I trust Tamarindus, I wonder…I hesitate and then Gwen’s voice whispers through my transducer, directly into my mind.

Go ahead, she’ll catch you. I want you to. Go on, Erin, my saafn. I jump a bit at her voice and reply. Okay, Gwen. I step off the edge of the ramp, trusting Tamarindus to catch me. Her arms, as strong as steel cable, capture me and swing me in a small arc, through the air. I squeak, fear and exhilaration combined, and she laughs. Setting me down gently, she kisses me deeply, and gives my fanny a squeeze. 

“Good saafn. Sweet girl, I wouldn’t drop you, believe me…come on, let’s go shopping!” She takes my hand in hers and we walk toward the buildings that line the park’s sides, catching up with Gwen. The two Draka hold my hands as we pass a menagerie of creatures, Draka, and servus. I hear the giggles of the children behind us, and Alice talking excitedly to Marie Claire. Birds twitter and swoop over us, crimson and gold flashing in the sunlight.

Centaurs, the occasional ghouloon, and a wide assortment of servus are milling around in the park, picnicking, playing, sunning. Vendors push wheeled carts along the paths, and the aromas of various foods waft our way. Kites shimmer in the summer sky and I watch two centaurs race past us, hooves flashing on the pavement. There’s a wide circle of space carefully maintained by all of them around us, and I catch the servus’ bows, the centaurs’ head bobs, the ghouloons’ chest slaps as we pass by. The occasional Draka passerby looks us over, curious about me and Alice, probably, and Patrick, and then acknowledges Gwen’s status with a respectful nod of the head.

Crossing the grassy sward, we walk slowly toward a long line of buildings. They’re not more than two stories high, and are mostly stone-work, with lacy iron grillwork surrounding the second-story porches and windows. I’m immediately reminded of New Orleans, or Mobile, by the architecture and wonder about it to myself.

“Yes, sweetlin’, there’s a resemblance. Most of the buildings along here are very good replications of ones in Archona, the really old section; the settlers there were mostly ex-Confederates, and they brought their architecture with them when they left the Unionists…damnyanks… There are some wonderful shops along here, so this’ll be fun, I think, for all of us,” Gwen says, having heard my subvocalization. She squeezes my hand gently, and I return the pressure, looking up into her tanned, aquiline face.

“There’s Hawlson’s, Gwen—remember their chocolates? Let’s stop…I’m sure the little ‘uns will enjoy it,” Tamarindus says, indicating with a nod of her head a small shop sandwiched between two larger buildings. There are chairs under umbrella-covered tables in front of the store, and quite a few drakensis are sitting there. Their servus sit at their feet, I notice, and the old shudder of distaste runs through me. I’m damn careful not to subvocalize anything, though.

“Just what these two hellions need, Muhmis, Uhmis—chocolate,” laughs Alice, hand in hand with Alexandra, who’s skipping along next to her Tantie-ma. Patrick is walking more slowly, with Marie Claire, his eyes full of centaurs. He loves them, draws them all the time, and sometimes pretends he is one, I think to myself, and grin at his rapture.

**  
Tamirindus and I embrace; I feel my ribs creak, and return it, grinning. “It’s been a long time, friend,” I say.

“What, since the last time we pleasured, or your last time with another Draka?” she asks.

“Both. Twelve years and ten, respectively – Karl Manfrittsson.”

“Head of iron,” she says dismissively.

“Yes, but I wasn’t that interested in his social skills,” I laugh, remembering that wild impulsive scramble – I was just back from a hunting trip in the Himalayas and hot enough to scream with need. Very satisfying, but I might have been rather alarming to a servus just then. Karl complained that I’d come within an ounce or two of giving him a hairline fracture of the pelvis.

We turn to Erin. She’s waiting, kneeling at the foot of the bed. Looking apprehensive… and very excited, shivering, hands clenched and skin covered in goose bumps, shifting unconsciously as she sits back on her heels. Tamirindus’ pheromones are added to mine, and it’s not just simple addition; the chemical ‘signatures’ are slightly different. More like… what’s the Earth/2 phrase? Ah, yes, a double whammy.

“Well, this is going to be a little different,” I say to Erin. “Tamar and I are going to… take the edge off each other,” I go on.

Whoah, jeezie petes, Erin subvocalizes. My god, talk about tigers! My friend and I both take her scent, look at each other, and chuckle. Wish Alice were here…

“Another time,” I say. “This is a ceremony, as well as recreation. You’ll find this first phase, uhm, instructive. And if we didn’t take the edge off, the next would be more… strenuous than you’d like. Dangerous for you, in fact. It’s still going to be strenuous, Erin. Very strenuous, and rather prolonged. But you will like it; we insist. Besides being fun, it’s sort of… symbolic.”

Tamirindus laughs. “Modified a little from the way an egg-sperm pair would take you, though. The traditional ‘pyramid’ position isn’t really practical, for instance…”

Erin smiles uncertainly as we laugh. I turn my attention back to Tamirindus, and relax the control that keeps me from being affected much by pheromonal clues. She does as well, and we both catch our breath, our hearts pounding, pupils flaring open, each becoming all the other can see. The effect is different with drakensis, of course. I feel a rush of desire, an intolerable tight heat from breasts through belly to loins, but it’s linked to aggression as well. We snarl at each other, friendly-menacing, and begin to circle at fingertip-reach. It’s not quite like the beginning to a death-duel, but not totally unlike it, either.

My snarl turns to a hawk-shriek. Hers matches it, and we flow together. The strong fabric of the bed groans in protest as we topple onto it. 

Sometime later I can think again; I shudder and smile into the face so like mine, beside me, feeling wet skin slide over the hard-soft contrasts of a female drakensis body pressed to mine. 

“Ahh,” I breathe. “Nice not to have to hold back at all sometimes.”

The big room is heavy with our scents, the sheets tousled and torn in places, spotted with blood – not much of that, just a few gashes from teeth and nails, clotted and mildly itchy now. We come to our knees side by side, and look down at Erin. She’s still kneeling in place, but both hands are pressed over her mouth and she’s shaking much harder as she stares at us.

Oh, my god, my god… she’s subvocalizing.

“Come to us, saafn,” Tamarindus purrs. “Submit to joy.”

“Come,” I say. “Open to us, saafn mine.”

“Uh... Ah… that is, umm, your wills…”

She obeys, stumbling a little. Our arms place her between us, facing Tamar. “Through your service, the Race will continue,” I say in her ear, continuing the ritual words. My hands cup her breasts, the breasts that will feed my child; my arms clamp hers to her sides. Tamarindus strokes her belly.

“In your womb, our child will grow. All honor to you, most favored saafn,” the other Draka goes on.

I feel Erin buck and heave as Tamar takes her; I bite softly at her neck and ears, kneading and pinching with my hands, then running them down her back to join my friend’s in their work. Soon my brooder stiffens and screams in unbearable pleasure, again and again, writhing between us…

**  
“So, how was it, lover-girl?”

Alice’s cheery greeting brings me from a deep, leaden sleep. I yawn, stretch, and groan. The muscles I try to stretch shriek at me, and I decide lying still is the best approach to recovery. “Um… it was sort of… well… scary, Alice.”

“Oh, c’mon, not all that bad, certainly—overwhelming, perhaps? On the other hand, you do have some bite marks…here, here…and, oh, my, here…” Alice probes gently, her fingertips caressing me. “Maybe I should kiss them and make them better?”

“Mmmhhh…” I sit up, slowly. “How about if I take a rain check on that thought, Alice? I feel sort of, I don’t know—like I don’t want to be touched at all for a bit. I guess the overwhelmed thing comes in here, old girl. It was like nothing I’ve ever experienced with Gwen, that’s for damn sure.”

She sighs, grinning at me as I hobble over to the dresser and ratch through it for something soft to wear. I grin back, and the muscles in my face creak slightly. Finding one of my favorite silk shirts, I slip into it and a pair of shorts. Alice comes up behind me and strokes the hair back from my face, gently.

“How does breakfast sound?”

That sounds wonderful, my stomach rumbles, and I laugh. “Sounds great! Lead the way!”

As we walk along the colonnaded pathways, shaded by overarching trumpet vines, I begin to feel a bit more normal, a bit more grounded. The events of last night—of being taken by two Draka—were overwhelming, I realize, but not enough to drive me round the bend. Although there were a few moments there…I think to myself, and grin. Gwen by herself is incredible; having her and Tamarindus take me was almost heart-stopping. They really got into the ritual of it, of the two of them taking me, their saafn, their brooder… That thought brings the brooding issue to the forefront, and I glance shyly at Alice as we walk into the airy, open-plan dining area.

“Yes?” she says, archly, raising an eyebrow.

“I was just wondering…”

“Yes?!”

“Well…I mean, you’ve been there, done that…um…”

“Ask away, chick. I’ll have toast, cereal, juice, some of that orangy-apple-ish fruit, and some coffee, please, miss. You, Erin?”

“Coffee, cornbread, juice…for right now. Thanks.”

The slender servus man bows and hurries off with our orders. I turn back to Alice, my lover, and smile. “Okay…here goes: what’s it like being a brooder, old girl?”

“You mean, does it hurt or anything? No. It feels bloody lovely, actually; Gwen said it’s designed to be that way. Having Alexandra didn’t hurt too much…you were there, you know. Being impregnated was probably the most shocking thing for me, and that’s cause Gwen sort of…sprang it on me. Once I got used to the idea, it was fine, really, Erin. Nothing to worry about.”

“You sound so reassuring. Thanks,” I say to the servus who sets our food down and bows slightly. His bright yellow eyes are a bit disconcerting but once past their strangeness, I sort of like them, I think to myself. He smiles widely at us, and scampers off to the kitchen. “I was just wondering. Thanks; I know we’ve talked a bit about this before, but this is sort of reinforcing. I need to be able to talk to someone about this, Alice. Mmmh, this is good coffee.”

“Isn’t it, though? Y’know, the implantation procedure here is prob’ly a zillion times better than the one they used on our Earth, Erin, so that won’t even be a problem. They’ll use the same one on me, for our baby,” Alice muses, then grins. “God, we’ll have to get a bigger bed so we won’t be bumping each other out of it when we’re both seven or eight months along, right?”

I snort cornbread crumbs, trying to suppress my guffaw, and we both crack up. “Alice, I swear, you think of the craziest things!”

“Yeah, but you’re stuck with me. I love you, crumbs and all!” Alice’s eyes are warm, and our hands meet across the table. The old familiar thrill jolts through me as we touch and I feel a blush rising. I’m so lucky, I wonder to myself, in the midst of all this, to find her…

**  
The seeding ceremony is quiet and small; Tamirindus and myself, Erin of course, Alice standing by, and Shawonda to operate the equipment. This room of the Andros Island clinic is bright, the air smelling of sea-salt and tropical pine; the humans add a tang – a little apprehension, oddly a bit stronger from Shawonda than the others. Erin and Alice exchange a hug; it’s a pleasure to see their affection for each other, a good omen. Outside in the gardens I can hear children laughing; Alexandra and Patrick, at play with their nannies and with Andri and Tom.

Erin licks her lips nervously as she pulls off her tunic and steps out of her underwear. I smile, reassuring her, and give her a kiss; so does Tamirindus. “Up here,” I say.

She climbs onto the seeding couch, lying back and looking at us gravely. Tamar and I arrange her legs in the stirrups, and Shawonda brings the implanter forward; it’s a featureless black rectangle with rounded edges. The other Draka and I lay our hands on the brooder’s stomach and adjust our pheromones to make this easier for her. I can see the blush running down from her face over her breasts, the nipples going taunt; I take the change in her scent and smile.

Practiced often enough… I hear Shawonda subvocalize. Damned easy to use this stuff, doesn’t give me the creeps anymore when it changes shape, Jesus could have used instruments like this in the trauma ward back when…

She presses the seeder between Erin’s legs and triggers it, stepping back and waiting with bowed head and folded hands. It spreads out over the human’s pubic area, and the brooder gives a squeak and a small convulsive movement as it extends within her; Tamar and I drop in to transducer link, taking the human with us. What we see is half schematic, half direct pink convoluted reality. The ova floats into the uterine wall and begins to implant…

I open my eyes, looking down at my saafn, feeling a rush of warmth as I look at her flushed face and sparkling eyes. They grow a little heavy; there’s a mild sedative involved in the process, to make it easier for the brooder to stay still right after the seeding.

“It is done,” I say, and Tamar echoes me. We bend to kiss her gently again. “Thank you, Erin. You bear our child.”

“Ummm… what now, Muhmis, Uhmis?” 

“Well, you should lie quietly for a few hours,” I say, picking her up and transferring her to a bed; Tamar and I tuck her in. “And then we’ll have dinner, and you’ll get a good night’s sleep. In a day or two, we’ll have a party – and Alice will be seeded with your and her baby, and you can go on your, hmmm, honeymoon.”

We sit, chatting a little, until Erin drifts off to sleep, then walk out into the bright sunlight, leaving Alice to wait with her. The children race over, and Tamar and I swoop them up; we toss them back and forth, catching the giggling, shrieking forms out of the air. My heart overflows with love as I hug Alexa to me.

“More, momma!” she laughs. 

I set her down. “Not now,” I say, crouching to put our faces level. “More wouldn’t be good for Patrick. Remember, he’s a human.”

“Oh.”

“Don’t you pout at me, little missy!” I say, and meet her eyes. She drops hers instinctively. Good, I think. A Draka child has to learn discipline too; to command, you have to learn obedience first. “What did I say about that?”

“I gotta be careful with Pat ‘cause he’s mine an’ it’s my res-pon-si-bi’lty.”

“That’s right.” I give her a hug and a kiss on the forehead. “Go on, take him and Marie Claire down to the beach.”

“Hey, Pat!” she cries. “Let’s go swim!”

“She a handful, Muhmis,” Marie Claire laughs.

“Don’t let her get away with too much,” I say, sending her on her way with a pinch that makes her squeak and giggle. 

Tom and Andri follow more sedately, hand-in-hand. Tamar pinches him, and he gives a creditable imitation of Marie Claire’s reaction; Tamar tousles his head fondly.

“I don’t think I’ve seen a more comely human,” she says, watching them go. She’s right; he’s tanned, lean, muscle beautifully defined under smooth skin. Surprisingly similar to Andri, except that he’s a few inches taller. Even their hair is much the same shade. “And he’s an excellent mount.”

“First-rate,” I say. “But that one’s mine, Tamar. What a collector you are!”

“Oh, undoubtedly; aren’t we all? He’s got a very strong saafn-bond with you,” she says. “Still, I’d like to borrow them again tonight, if you don’t mind – I’m back to my Household soon, anyway…”

“Nothing too good for a friend,” I laugh.

I stand and sigh with happiness; the palm-fronds overhead rustle in the mild midafternoon breeze. “I’m for a swim,” Tamar says. “Gwen?”

“No,” I say, thinking. Shawonda deserves a treat, and a bonding-reinforcement. “Or, yes… I’ll join you in a while.” I turn my gaze to the black-skinned human, as the other Draka walks down to the beach. “Do you have anything urgent on your schedule in the next couple of hours, Shawonda?” I say.

“No… Muhmis…” she says, moistening her lips as our gazes lock. I let the pheromones swell for a long minute of silence. “Just… routine stuff…” Beads of sweat have broken out on her brow, and I can see her squirm a little inside the crisp white uniform.

“Good,” I say, and kiss her. 

She’s slender, wiry for a human, good to touch; I enjoy her shudder and groan as I probe her mouth, and she returns the kiss enthusiastically as I slide my hands over her. Very active as a mount, this one, almost aggressive at times; not quite as delicate a touch as Erin’s or Alice’s, but it’s charming the way she heaves and yells. Oddly frightened at her own responses when I first began to use her for pleasure, but excellent once she broke to me; I remember her first real surrender vividly, a lovely moment. Erin helped a great deal, getting her settled in; I remember being quite touched, watching over the monitors, her holding the black girl as she wept.

“Let’s go, then.”

I scoop Shawonda up and over my shoulder, and she gives a small sound of helpless surprise; another, as I caress her. Life is good, I think, as I walk up towards the house.

**  
I wake in the quiet of the afternoon; sunlight slanting in through the shutters gives the room a golden hazy look, and the sound of the surf crashing against Andros is a reassuring one. The smell of ocean, briny, salt-tang, a little fishy, fills the room, and I inhale, relishing it. It feels like home, I think. Home…what’s that mean, now?

Sitting up, unwrapping the blankets that Tamarindus and Gwen had tenderly tucked around me, I wrap my tanned arms around my legs, and think. They were tender, I realize; I wasn’t really expecting that. Sort of odd, or unexpected, like seeing a cat tightrope walking or something. They can be so damn frightening, so fierce, and then turn around and be so gentle. I don’t understand. Of course, my mind says, they’re being tender because it’s good evolutionary strategy—an upset brooder isn’t the healthiest thing for the drakensis embryo…

Oh, god, what have I gotten myself into? I wish Peter was here…for the millionth time, it seems, but all the wishing in the world won’t bring him back. Oh, Petey, I miss you so…I never thought I’d meet someone I loved so deeply, so completely…damn it all to hell, anyway. We just happened to be wired differently, but that never seemed to matter to our friendship. As close as I am to Alice, and now growing that way towards Jennifer, it’s not the same…

I wonder when I’ll feel different…carrying Gwen and Tamar’s child now. Alice said she felt kind of high the entire time she carried Alexandra, but I don’t feel…well, I do feel odd, but not high or buzzed or anything. Hmm. Hungry, though. Wonder what time it is? I climb slowly out of bed and reach for my neatly folded clothes. Shawonda bursts into the room, face worried, frowning.

“Girl, you shouldn’t be awake yet—Muhmis said it’d be three or four hours before you were up, and here it’s only two—get your butt back in that bed!”

“Like, duh, no way, okay?” I put on my best Valley Girl accent, knowing how it drives Shawonda to distraction. “Like, dudette, I’m totally hungry, okay?”

“No, seriously—I think you need to stay in bed, Erin. I’ll bring you some vittles, promise! Just please get back in that bed. I’ll ask Gwen if it’s okay…”

“Nah. I will—wait a second.” Closing my eyes to concentrate, I use the transducer to call my Muhmis. Gwen—can I get up to eat something now? Shawonda’s having kittens that I’m out of bed!

A whispered laugh in my head replies: Yes, sweetlin’, you can get up. A bit early, but that’s fine. I’ll meet you by the pool, and we’ll have lunch. Orange roughy sound good?

Yes, Muhmis, and thanks. I’ll tell Shawonda… I open my eyes, and grin at the concerned ebony face of my friend. “It’s okay, Sha’. She’s okayed it. I’m gonna get dressed and walk down to the pool to eat lunch with her, all right?” 

“Well, okay.” She starts to turn away, picking up the clipboard she had tossed onto a chair when she burst in. Shawonda stops and turns back to me, face tender now. “Hey, Erin, you doin’ all right and everything?”

“Yeah, I’m fine…thanks, honey, for asking…” I pull my shirt over my head and step into my shorts, looking under the chair for my sandals.

“Um, remember Stan Phillips?”

Looking up at her as I put the leather sandals on, I grin. “Hell, yeah, I remember him. Didn’t Peter hire him awhile back? He was a born electrician, that guy…”

“Yep. Well, he and I have been…talking, you know, getting to know each other again, and going over old stuff, the Nimitz and all…he was wondering if he could talk to you. In private…I think it’s a personal thing or something. What should I tell him?”

“Sure. I’ll talk. Tell him to get in touch with me while we’re here, on Andros. I think Alice and I are planning on taking a bit of a honeymoon in the next couple of weeks, depending on how everything goes with the…seeding things…but any time before or after that is fine, kiddo.”

“Okay, I’ll tell him. Thanks, Erin…enjoy lunch, but not too much,” Shawonda’s delightful white grin matches mine as I amble out the clinic door.

**  
The biotech is a servus; he’s a little nervous to be here among humans, a little more to have me in the room. Nothing but the best for my saafn, especially my brooders, though. I’ve had the clinic here on Andros thoroughly modernized and damn the expense – what’s the point in being a Planetary Archon, otherwise? He looks around the unfamiliar Earth/2 office, and then back to the thin screen on the desk. Erin and Alice are sitting side-by-side before him, holding hands and smiling at one another. I take their scents; I think I can already detect the changes in Erin, even after two days… possibly that’s my imagination. It won’t become unambiguous until a week after the ovum implants in her uterine wall. She’s already euphoric, but that’s probably just circumstances.

The tech clears his throat. “This is a fairly routine procedure on the Prime Line,” he goes on. “It’s been quite common for a two hundred years now; my mother was an egg-to-egg merging. The transference of characteristics is essentially random, as in old-style matings, unless we select. Do you have any cosmetic preferences? Hair and eye color…?”

Alice shakes her head firmly. “Let the cards fall where they may,” she says.

“In that case the probabilities are –“ he consults his transducer, and a holograph of a baby appears, growing swiftly into a young girl of about nine. She’s slim and pale-skinned, with a dusting of freckles across her short nose and high cheekbones; her eyes are blue-green. The hair that flows to her waist is tow-blond. “Maturing to –” The holo flows, changes, and a young woman stands there, in early adulthood. The hair has darkened to the color of honey, a shade browner than that at her groin. The body shows optimum development, taut with flat muscle, the breasts full but high; she’s about Alice’s height, four inches or so shorter than me but tall for a human female.

“You can expect, in your terms, an IQ of roughly 133, given reasonably optimum nutrition and childhood stimulation,” he goes on. “Let’s see… indications of artistic ability, but that can’t be precisely quantified even now… oh, my, will you look at that… well, I suppose aggression and initiative quotients like that are natural enough for you humans. We all serve the Race in our own ways. No offense.”

“None taken,” Alice says dryly.

“Sensory acuity and reflexes will be generally above human median, in the upper 30% of the bell curve,” he says. “For archaics, you two Seras really do have rather nice genomes. As good as servus, mostly.”

“Thanks,” Erin says; she’s suppressing a chuckle. Well, this is weird, but not bad, she thinks/murmurs to herself. Beats a blood test, I suppose…. Jeeze, no more Downs Syndrome, I suppose, all that stuff.

“Well, then, there’s only the, mmm, improvement program,” he goes on. “Uhmis Archon Ingolfsson has decreed that we’re not making any, ah, fundamental changes here. No species-level alterations.”

The serfs look at me and I nod. “Erin’s suggestion, actually,” I say. “But it convinced me. Give them the outlines.”

The tech gives her a look of respect, his smile white against his ebony skin. “What we’ll be doing is eliminating some problems,” he goes on. “Most importantly, the telomerase… non-technically, cutting down on aging before senescence sets in – no point in getting all wrinkled before you go, is there? And some cleaning-up. The appendix, for instance – pure risk and no gain. In your particular cases, Seras d’Ingolfsson, there’s a slight tendency to diabetes, to menstrual cramping, to postmenopausal weight gain, to arthritis, a few other things of that sort – they all go. Oh, and suboptimal vision, shortsightedness it’s called – I haven’t seen that gene-complex since my student days when we were doing History of Science, oh my, yes. We’re also reinforcing the immune system slightly. And of course, we’re establishing a more natural sexual orientation, that’s a matter of consolidating several complexes.”

Erin bristles and sits up. I chuckle. “He means like me, sweetlin’,” I say. “Or like himself… or like Alice, now. Natural as the Domination thinks of it. Every human born is that way now, from about ten months ago. Simplifies things, eh?”

Of course, I think, the Samothracians suspend their dislike of genegeneering enough to make all their people straight, as Erin would put it, and that seems natural to them. What a flexible word. The actual term in Talk means something a little more like ‘agreed to be right’, though.

“Oh.” She relaxes. “Oh, OK, then.”

The two look at each other, taking a deep breath. “Well, when can we do it?” they say in almost-harmony.

The tech is surprised. “Why, right away,” he says, touching the smooth box beside him; it’s about the size of a TV remote, to use a local analogy. “I have the material right here from the clinic biostorage, and the basics were all done – it would have meant a half-hour wait, if you’d wanted a brunette or something of that order. If you’ll remove your clothes and get on that examination table, Sera Alice?”

**   
“Hey, Erin! Long time, no see! How’re you doing?”

I look up from my notebook, shading my eyes against the mid-morning glare, and see a short, stocky, brown-haired man standing next to me. “Stan? Stan Phillips? Gosh, it’s been so long, dude! How the heck are ya?”

“Just fine, just fine. Listen, can we talk here, I mean, in private? It’s important.”

“Um, sure,” I say, turning the laptop onto pause mode. I sit up and gesture him toward a chair. “Have a seat. What’s up?”

“Could you turn that thing off, not just put it on pause?”

I look at him for a moment, wondering, and then flip the laptop off. It automatically saves what I’ve been working on and beeps once, closing down. “Okay.”

He sits down and looks around, carefully. “This is really private, Erin. I mean that. If you aren’t comfortable with it, let me know. But I have to talk with you, shipmate to shipmate, and don’t need any interference. You know?”

I gaze into his brown eyes and nod, frowning. “Whatever’s wrong, Stan, we can work out. It’s cool. Between shipmates.”

“That’s what Peter said you’d say. Good.” He hands me a vidcamera. “First, let me tell you how sorry I am about Peter. It was a damned shame. Shouldn’t have been him, or you, Erin, or that other kid getting hurt. Okay? He and I were…close. You’ll understand more in a minute. I’ll leave you alone to watch this, and then we’ll talk.”

Stan gets up awkwardly and walks down the beach a bit, leaving the vidcamera in my hands. What the hell is going on, I think to myself. Do I want to press play, or not? I sigh, and press the button.

“Erin…if you’re seeing this, that means…I’m dead. Sorry, honey. Hope the funeral was a blast, and that everyone wore something nice…” Peter stares out from the screen, and I gasp. My hands shake as he goes on:

“Erin, listen. This is terribly important. Stan’s a friend. A friend with a capital F. You know what that means. So’s Shawonda. You can trust them, and I hope, I truly hope, they can trust you. I think they can, and I know you pretty well. Stan’s going to talk with you about a plan, a project, and you can help. It’s a dream of mine, one I’ve had for…ever since all this weird shit happened…” He gestures widely, dramatically, a movement I know so well…my heart aches as I watch him move on the screen, hear his voice, see his smile, his eyes…

“This can save humanity. We have to, sweetie. It’s up to us. You have to help, I know you will. I know, too, that Gwen’s pretty much got you under her thumb. Fine. Good. She won’t suspect you then, will she? You know that line in the Blows Against the Empire album, about being diamond thieves? That’s what we are, we can be…that’s what we’ll do to survive. Talk with Stan, darling. Talk with Shawonda. You can make a difference…I know that’s always been one of your things, your goals.”

Peter pauses for a long moment, looking into the camera. “Erin. You’re the mother of my son. You’re my best friend. You saved my life. Let me try to save you, as well as the rest of the humans who survive…don’t let them turn us into their slaves, honey. We can fight, and win, if we’re careful. We adapt, we survive. Humans are good at that. Work with Stan, with the others. It’s a small organization, but a good one. Been a few years in the making; we’ve been careful. There were some who didn’t want to include you, since you’re so…close…to one of them…but since things must have changed, and I’m…dead, you’re it, girlfriend.”

Another pause. “Honey…that was all political stuff. This here part is personal. You know how much I love you…god, ever from when we became friends, just out of a sense of convenience, so no one would ask, and we wouldn’t have to tell, in the Navy…to you saving my sorry ass on the Nimitz. To our son. I wish…I wish I had never seen that ad, and that Gwendolyn Ingolfsson had ended up on some other planet, like Mercury or something… But I won’t wish our son away. I won’t wish what we shared away. If I’m dead now, then that means you and Patrick have one hell of a queeny guardian angel watching over you. Take care of him, Erin, teach him the right things. Love him no matter what, and don’t let him forget about me. Oh, god…I don’t know what else to say, honey. I’m sorry if I left suddenly. Take good care of yourself, and know that I love you, and always will. Wear something other than black or green, too, but not orange, for God’s sake. It clashes with your eyes. Listen to some opera for me, and have some champagne. Not the cheap kind, either, girl. Oh, Erin…I love you. Goodbye, now, for a while…”

The image fades out. My hands still shaking uncontrollably, I hit the rewind button and set the vidcamera down. My eyes are full of tears; I can hear gulls laughing in the near distance, the sound of the ocean surf…I inhale, breathing in the salt scent, the clean air…trying to ground myself, to calm myself. What I’ve just heard could be my death sentence, I think with a shudder. Now what the hell do I say to Stan?

Stan walks over, seeing the vidcamera on the chair next to mine. “All done?”

“Yeah, I guess.” My voice’s cold; I stare at this man, this person I thought I knew a little.

“I know it’s a shock. But you need to deal with it. We’re taking a risk here, a terrible risk, pulling you into this. Like Peter said, there are some in the… organization… who didn’t want to include you. Your, ah, status, with the so-called Planetary Archon…is worrisome. But Peter left instructions, and we decided to honor them.”

I sit quietly, tensely, my hands covering my belly. Do they know I’m carrying Gwen and Tamar’s child? What if they…but they must know, if Shawonda’s one of them… “What in the world do you want?”

“We want you. That’s easy, simple enough to understand. You can be a very important bargaining chip…or what you’re being forced to carry is.” His voice’s cold, as cold as mine. His brown eyes are hard, now, staring down at me. His fists clench and unclench, and fear trickles down my insides, pooling into a block of ice in my stomach. The wisteria blossoms across the fence behind me are very noticeable suddenly, and I wonder at that. Strange things fear does sometimes, a corner of my mind chuckles.

“What?”

“Listen, you must have understood the reference in the song. If we take some of their…children, and one of their starships, we can bargain, we can escape—”

“You’re mad.” I stand up, arms held out defensively in front of me. “Phillips, you’re insane. Absolutely fucking insane. Do you have any idea what they’d do, if they even thought we might—”

“Who’d tell? You?”

“Damn it, it’s a crazy idea, it won’t work—”

“Whose side are you on, anyway? Or have the effects of being a brood cow for them already started working on your mind?”

“Oh, yeah, right…that’s me, mindless…listen, you—I have my son to think about. I have to think about Alice, Jennifer—I have more than just me, and who I have inside me, to think about here. I know the idea sounds romantic, and brave, and wonderful, but it won’t work. I know the Draka a hell of a lot better than you do, or your ‘organization’ does. And I know how bad it would be if they ever even wondered about something like this. Phillips, this is insane, and I want no part of it.”

“Peter can’t be that wrong about you…”

“He’s not. I have my own ideas about saving humanity, and some of them are already going into effect. But they’re long-term ones, sleepers…not some hare-brained ‘steal their kids and a starship’ scheme. No. I won’t help you. And if you come one step closer…” My voice becomes sharper, “I’ll damn well yell out on my transducer, and all the forces of hell would be more gentle with you than Gwen would be…”

“You’re a race traitor, then, aren’t you?” His voice is bitter, hopeless. He stands still, and I see a vein throbbing in his forehead.

“No, dammit. I’m not. I’m a realist. I’m trying to keep as many people alive, with the best life I can get for them, as I can, in the situation. I’m not willing to commit hara-kiri over this, nor am I willing to condemn others to death for it…okay? I think we’ve said all we have to say to each other.”

“Yeah? So now what? You gonna run and tell your…owner, your ‘Muhmis’ about this? How about if you cut the stake to impale me on? Hmm? And Shawonda? How about her?”

“Listen, you…I said I’d listen to you, shipmate to shipmate. That still stands, unless you come any closer to me. Shawonda’s a shipmate, too. I’m not ratting on either of you. Not now. This is the last time I ever want to hear about this. If you ever try to contact me about it again, the shipmate thing is out the window. I won’t jeopardize my son over this stupidity. Or this baby. Ever. Understand? And if you’re so willing and eager about being impaled, you can cut the goddamned stake yourself, okay?” I pick up the vidcamera and my laptop.

“Give me that.”

“Like hell I will. I want the video of Peter. I’ll…edit it, so Patrick can see it and remember his daddy. You sure as hell don’t need it.” I hold the small device next to me, protectively, and feel my lips curl back in a snarl.

“Shit. Now you even act like one of them. Bitch. I thought we could…”

“Use me. Like I was nothing but a carrier. Nope, no thanks. It’s a stupid idea, take my word on it.”

“Like your word is worth anything, serf…”

“Hel-lo, idiot. In case you haven’t noticed, we’re all serfs. Like it or lump it, but get over it. Deal with it. There are ways and ways…”

“I’d rather be dead than live like you.”

I glare coldly, contemptuously at him. “Your wish will probably come true quite soon, with an attitude like that. I’m going to survive, and so will my son. End of discussion, permanently. Goodbye, Stan Phillips, and tell your little organization they can go to hell, too.”

He turns on his heel and stalks off, down the bright, white sand beach. My pulse throbs in my ears and my knees feel weak. I sit back down on the lounge chair, and hug the vidcamera to me as tears rise. I sob helplessly, angrily, watching the man walk down the beach. I have a feeling, suddenly, of a shadow, high up in the sky, passing over me, chilling me to the bone for a moment. Goosebumps rise and I shiver, hugging myself and the life within me. Interesting times, like hell, I think to myself…interesting times…


	29. Chapter Twenty Nine

Chapter 29

I stand and look out over the lights of Manhattan from my eyrie in what was the Waldorf-Astoria, sipping from the brandy snifter in one hand. The coffee in the other is Blue Mountain; acceptable, but the cognac is first-rate; they do that well, here on my world. I can see my own reflection in the glass, a transparent overlay on the glass, wrapped in a robe – somehow that seems more comfortable, tonight, with the snow falling down into the canyon streets. 

No, Gunnar, I say through my transducer. let it ripen. We don’t want any martyrs; there have been too many. 

They’re a strange breed, he replies. I catch the undertone of a wry smile. Not at all straightforward. Some serve us with desperate loyalty; others continue to resist, when it’s quite hopeless.

And you can never be entirely sure which will do which, I say/think. But you’re never bored here, are you, now?

His laughter matches the crackle and hiss of the fire in the room behind me; surprising how odd the human builders found it when I insisted on a fireplace in the bedroom.

Speaking of humans, I go on, I caught that one of yours – Winona, isn’t she? – in the latest holomovie; the one based on Shakespeare. Given the different theatrical conventions, she’s really quite good. So you allowed her back to work?

Well, a shame to waste potential, he replies; I catch a tinge of embarrassment. And she was pining for it. She’s… fun, when she’s happy. I’m really quite fond of her.

No reason not to be; I know the feeling, I chuckle mentally, watching myself smile in the glass. I shake my head. Even their idiocies are oddly endearing, sometimes. They know that our surveillance devices are smaller than dust motes and nearly as ubiquitous, but they think they can keep secrets from us.

A sigh. Your command, Archon; we’ll handle this quietly, then. No names released.

No. And what magnificent servants they will be, when we’ve tamed them.

If we ever do, completely.

We have all the time in the universe, I say, to take the sting out of disagreement. When you’ve seen half a millennium, that becomes more… real.

Your command.

I send a wordless affirmative and turn from the observation-lounge back to the bedroom. Jennifer and Erin are lying propped up against the headboards on piles of pillows, their arms around each other’s shoulders with a big bowl of popcorn between them; its buttery scent mingles pleasantly with human musk and sweat, and the slight perfume of the flowers on the escroire, the healthy tang of Jennifer’s cat lying on the foot of the bed. Erin is just beginning to show with my child, and there’s a happy glow to her; the two of them are screening a concert on the holowall; it’s a broadcast from the Prime Line – transporting material things is expensive, but even on standby the mole hole can send any amount of information. The firelight and the glow of the holo play across their bare skins; it’s dark enough for my own eyes to glow green, and Jennifer stares, a handful of popcorn halfway to her mouth – she’s always found that fascinating, for some reason.

Walking over, I see it’s an old recording – pre-War. An open amphitheater, rising up in tiers from a semicircular platform where the orchestra is at work…

“Well, I’ll be damned!” I exclaim. “I was there for that performance – May of 1982 – the Geraldsson concert. I was just six years old, by the gods; my mother took me to it and her brother was there, and Aunt Mandy… the time she was in Archona and got her first flotilla command!”

I shed the robe and lie down, reaching across Jennifer for some of the popcorn; odd combination with brandy, but not bad. Especially with really good butter and a little parmesan on it. Occasionally the view shifts to the audience; human-Draka, in the formal clothes of the first century BFS; off-the-shoulder Grecian gowns for women, or uniforms; uniforms or high-collared jackets for men. I freeze the visuals through my transducer and bring a close-up. 

“And there we are,” I say softly, as the ancient music lilts in my ears. Mamma Yolande. Tantie-ma Marya. Jolene… I’m on the black woman’s lap, my child’s eyes wide as I listen, rapt. I close my eyes for a second, releasing the visual.

The serfs are looking at me with wonder and curiosity. “I’ve never edited that memory,” I say after a while. “Too happy.” I shrug off the mood. “That tune was a folk song, originally, or a marching song; my mother Yolande did a redaction that was quite popular.”

“Redaction?” Erin says.

“Words and slight modification of the tune,” I say. “Great-Aunt Tanya said they sang a version of it during the Eurasian War; there were probably others a lot earlier than that. Mother’s went something like…”

I think for a moment, closing my eyes again, and hearing her voice. My own can supply the notes for the background as well as the words; the tune is jaunty, lilting, with an undertone of fierce melancholy:

 

“In another thousand days of death and terror--  
In another thousand nights of fire and pain--  
In another thousand nights will it all be over?  
In another thousand days will the war be won?

From the Cape north to Asia by the right of the sword,  
Runs the writ of our Archon and the Draka are lords;  
For the Drakon never fails to fight;  
And the Drakon never fails to fight…

I’ve got a long-term appointment with a hole in the ground,;  
Though you dodge for decades the bullet comes ‘round;  
For the Drakon never fails to fight;  
And the Drakon never fails to fight…

Big black machine grinds forward from Moscow  
And it’s ‘up from the stop-zones’ and ‘into the line’  
For the Drakon never fails to fight;  
And the Drakon never fails to fight…

By the light of the burning Tiger I read your letter,  
Warsaw behind us and the snow falling fast;  
For the Drakon never fails to fight;  
And the Drakon never fails to fight,

Then it’s through the ice and the firestorms and so few remaining;  
Replacements like children and we’re crossing the Rhine,  
For the Drakon never fails to fight;  
And the Drakon never fails to fight,

I long so to see you and my hands are so tired;  
Warm nights and flowers and your eyes so alive,  
But the Drakon never fails to fight;  
And the Drakon never fails to fight,

Blue Atlantic waves hiss ‘round the treads of our Hond  
The Archon hails us and they say that it’s peace  
But the Drakon never fails to fight;  
For the Drakon never fails to fight,

In another thousand days will the new foe be beaten?  
In another thousand nights will the waters be crossed?  
In another thousand nights will it all be over?  
In another thousand days… will the war be won?

For we’re Draka. And our war never ends.”

“And we’re fighting it still,” I murmur. “What they dreamed, we live.”

My eyes open as Jennifer kisses me on the brow. Erin is looking at me with concern. “Old memories,” I say, stretching and smiling. “Let’s repeat that, with some oomph behind it, Jenny.”

**  
I sit staring off into space, the events of the last day or so turning in my mind. Tapping her pen on her laptop case, Jennifer clears her throat. 

“Hey, corn-pone…hello? Earth to Erin, come in please…”

“Yes?”

She looks at me curiously. “You’re not acting like a woman about to go on an all-expenses paid honeymoon. Anything you’d like to talk about?”

“No.”

“God forbid you should say more than one-syllable words or anything…too much strain on that brain of yours?” Her tone’s sharp, but I can tell from the gleam in her eye that she’s trying to get my goose.

“Sorry—I just have to think about some stuff, is all. Can’t really talk about it, either. No insult intended. I think I’ll take a walk, and see if I can’t come back in a better mood. How does that sound, Jenny?”

“Oy, that sounds great. Leave the dark cloud that’s over your head down at the beach, okay?”

I grin at her, half-heartedly, and walk down to the beach. Andros Island feels homelike, after all the traveling we’ve been doing. The place in New York, the Waldorf-Astoria, has too many Draka for me to feel comfortable around. I have enough trouble staying out of trouble around the ones I have to be near, I think to myself, and smile. But staying out of trouble’s never been my style, now has it?

The beach’s deserted; a storm’s coming in, and the normally clear, azure waves are murky, sand and what-not being churned up from all the turbulence. Lots of shells litter the white sand, and some are whole. I pocket a handful for Alexa and Patrick, knowing they love to collect them. I think Pat inherited that from me, but I don’t know where Gwen’s clone child picked up the pack-rat impulse. She’s such a sweetie, I muse, and look out over the whitecaps, squinting into the brisk wind.

I see someone walking toward me, and turn to look more directly down the beach. It’s Stan Phillips, I realize with a jolt, and he’s walking like he has a purpose. I shudder slightly, and cross my arms defensively. I wish Jennifer had come along, that I wasn’t alone, but too late now, I think to myself as he walks up to me. “Stan.”

“Erin. We have to talk.”

“Not about what the last conversation covered. I meant what I said about that, Stan.”

“You’ve turned Shawonda against us. Why?”

Spray jets through the air, wetting my face. The salt-smell of the water is strong, and the spray’s cold. It raises goose bumps on my face and arms. I look at the man standing tensely in front of me, and realize he’s ready to spring on me. I’d talked to Shawonda after the last conversation Stan and I had, and warned her to stay clear of the man. Apparently she listened after all, I think, and open my mouth to reply.

Stan cuts me off. “It doesn’t matter, anyway. Things have reached a crisis point…someone’s been talking. We think it’s you, and we’re going to stop it, one way or another. Put your hands in front of you, now.” A knife, long and glittering in the gray light of the overcast day, appears in his right hand, and he waves it slowly, menacingly.

“Shit! Put that thing up before you hurt yourself, Stan. This has gone far enough.” Inside, a feeling’s welling up, from gut to chest to throat, and I wonder at it, in a distant sort of way. Never felt anything quite like this…what’s going on? I step back, away from the man, watching his eyes.

“I told you, put your hands in front of you. Now, Erin, or I’ll hurt you.” His left hand comes out from his jacket pocket, and it’s holding a plain grey rectangle.

“What…” I try to key my transducer, calling for Gwen, Alice, anyone—

“Forget it. That thing in your head won’t work, as long as I have this. This is a present, from some very powerful friends of ours. They don’t like the Draka…neither do we. Do as I tell you, bitch, or—”

Watch his eyes, watch his eyes, I think frantically to myself. He’ll telegraph where he’s going, just wait. The feeling’s burning through me, and I realize it’s a killing rage, a lust like I’ve never felt before. My mouth fills with saliva, and I feel my lips curling into a snarl. It’s like someone has puppet strings attached to me, I think, I’m Pinocchio…a giggle, harsh and ragged, spills from me, and I step backwards again. “You’re making a terrible, terrible mistake, Stan. Back off, now…”

“Damn it…you’re probably the one that tipped their security forces off, anyway. I’ll make it real plain for you—get your hands up, or I’ll cut that obscene Draka growth out of your belly faster than you can blink, bitch. The game’s up…” He advances suddenly, his arm extended toward me, the knife a shining beacon of death in the half-light.

I stumble against a beach table, still trying to key my transducer. Nothing, nothing—like static in my head. I shake my head, trying to clear it, and see the knife angling toward my abdomen. No. Not the baby, never, I think, and a low growl rips from my throat. Everything goes into slow motion. His arm slicing toward me, his face a rictus of hate and fury… I turn slightly, feeling the folded up shape of an umbrella for the table against my arm. Needs must, a tiny voice whispers, and with a horrifying burst of strength, I yank the umbrella from the center of the table.

I barely get out of the way of his first slashing attack, and he curses, harshly. Backing up a bit, he begins to move in toward me, the knife held low and steady, slightly sideways in his right hand. He still clutches the grey rectangle in his left hand, and his eyes are wild now. Hefting the solid weight of the umbrella, I swing it at him like a pugil stick, aiming for his middle. He leaps backwards, and stumbles in the wet sand.

Sensing my advantage, I rush him, the umbrella pole held like a bayonet-tipped rifle. The low growl coming from my lips turns to a shriek of rage as I slam the pole into the man, the man who would threaten the child I carry, threaten my whole being, my son, my lover, my friends… all the frustration of the last years, the loss of Peter, everything, comes out in that scream, and it drowns out the awful sound he makes as the pole impales him. The sharp tip on the end penetrates his belly, and he gasps in agony, face contorting, body folding in on itself. The knife drops to the sand with him, and I stand alone, blood-spattered.

Stan levers himself up on one elbow, looking in shock at the pole thrust through him. He turns his face to me, straining to say something, and falls backwards, bonelessly. His body is held up obscenely by the umbrella pole, and I suddenly bend over, sick to my stomach. I retch, helplessly, as I realize I’ve just killed someone. Minutes of pain pass, and I climb to my feet, wiping at my face with the back of one hand. It comes away wet, and I shudder. The waves are pounding into the beach, and I hear thunder in the distance. The palm trees are being whipped into a frenzy, and the salt spray is stinging my eyes. Foam from the waves bubbles across the high-tide mark, and some lands on the still form in front of me. The stink of blood and bowel almost makes me vomit again, but I back away, and the stench lessens.

Oh, god, what have I…I had to, he was going to…going to…oh, gods above… have to get Gwen, that’s it…oh, baby, you’re safe…I’m safe…oh, jeezie petes, I killed him… I stumble back up the beach, wiping at my face, trying to clean it off. I burst through the double glass doors of the downstairs meeting room, where Jennifer and I had been a few minutes ago…or was it years, eons ago? Her face’s white with shock as she looks me over. I stand trembling in the doorway, trying to organize my thoughts and control my voice enough to talk coherently.

“Oh, my dear gawd, what’s happened? Honey, honey—you’re all over blood…oy, vey, gevalt…this is terrible, please, please sit down…let me get some help…”

“G-g-get Gwen. No one else. Gwen.” I stutter, my lips trembling and my voice shaking, despite my best efforts at control. “Just get Gwen, Jenny…please, please…”

“Oh, my gawd…” Her hands twisting together, she runs from the room, long brown hair streaming out behind her. Her heels whack out a tattoo on the hardwood floors, and I hear her open Gwen’s study doors. “Gwen…ah, Muhmis…please, sorry to interrupt your meeting…it’s Erin, please, please—she said to get you, and only you…”

Gwen rushes into the room, eyes wide, hair bristling. Growling faintly, she runs over to where I still stand, shaking uncontrollably. “Darlin’, what in all the seven hells has happened?” 

Her arms around me, looking up into her face…I try to talk, but nothing comes out. I gesture out the door, toward the beach.

“Archon—do I need to send a patrol out?” The voice of one of the younger Draka rings into the room, and I look past my Muhmis to see three of them standing alertly in the doorway. Tamarindus brushes past them, and comes over to where the two of us stand.

“Is she…”

“Erin, talk to me. Breathe, slowly, slowly now…” Gwen puts her hand on my chest, pressuring and releasing rhythmically. “Talk to me. She’s not hurt, I can scent that—just terrified, and…angry. Killing angry. Wench, tell me what’s going on. Now.”

“Please, Gwen, Muhmis…ah…it’s… I …he tried to… to… and I … oh, god, I killed him… please,” I whisper. Her leaf-green eyes widen at first and then narrow in anger. Defensive anger, not anger with me, I think to myself, shivering under her gaze.

“Who? Where is he?”

“He’s on the beach…please, please…I need to talk with you, Gwen, just you. This is important, really important, Muhmis, I’m begging you…”

Gwen turns to the other Draka. “Tamar, take the others down to the beach and find the body. Take it to the clinic. I’ll be there shortly. I need to talk with Erin alone.”

Tamarindus nods and signals the others to follow her. Leopard-fast, they sprint out into the rain that’s driving across the grass, bending plants to the ground with its force. They disappear into the storm and Gwen turns back to me.

“Now. We’re alone. Talk, Erin.”

“It’s…ah, okay. Okay. Let me get my mind together. Oh, god. Okay. Gwen, I killed Stan Phillips. He was a shipmate of mine and Peter’s…Peter hired him a while ago. There’s more to the story, and now you need to know. I thought I could handle it myself…before. I thought it was over. But…” I shudder in her arms, and she squeezes slightly.

Cupping my chin, running her thumb over my lips in an infinitely familiar gesture, Gwen calms me, waiting for me to go on. Her steady gaze bores into me, and the urge to run off and hide somewhere grows and grows within me. I feel sick and shaken, tired beyond belief. The sound of water dripping from me onto the patterned wooden floor is loud in the silence and I steel myself to go on.

“Gwen, a couple of days ago, right after the Seeding…Shawonda mentioned that an old shipmate of ours was wanting to talk to me about something personal. That’s all she knew, I swear. That’s as involved as she gets, Gwen. Remember that, okay?” Gwen nods, eyes narrowing. I swallow, nervously, and continue: “I met with him the next day, and he had a tape of Peter to show me. I watched it, and it scared the shit out of me. Peter and Stan had this idea that they’d steal some Draka children, and a starship, and save humanity somehow…it’s been in the works for quite some time, apparently. Peter said that since I was watching the video, he must be dead, and he wanted me to help Stan and his ‘organization’. I told Stan it was crazy, insane…stupid.”

“Yes…go on.” Muhmis’ voice is cool, commanding. Inwardly, I shrink, feeling the force behind her words, knowing that these may be my last moments on earth.

“Um…we had an argument. He called me a race traitor, among other things. I told him that since we had agreed to talk between shipmates, this one time was it. If he ever mentioned it to me again, I’d tell you. He was furious with me… But I have too much to lose, now, Gwen, Muhmis…the baby, Patrick, Alice, Alexa, Jenny, Tom…you…I can’t throw that all away on some hare-brained idea. I tried to explain that we’re all doing what we can to make the transition as easy as possible, and as bloodless…as well as trying to ensure some of us stay human… but he didn’t want to hear that. I finally told him to go to hell, and I thought that was the end of it. I told Shawonda to steer clear of him, giving him the widest berth possible, since he was acting…so paranoid and loony.”

“What happened today?”

“I went for a walk down on the beach. He came up to me, and told me someone had exposed their operation, and they figured it was me. He wanted me to put my hands in front of me, and he was threatening me with a knife. He also had some grey rectangular device in his other hand, and he said as long as he held it, I couldn’t use my transducer. And I couldn’t—I tried and tried to call you, for help, but it was like static filled my head. He said something about it being a present from some very powerful people who don’t like the Draka…”

Gwen’s head snaps around, and her eyes hold mine in a steely gaze. “That’s what he said?”

“Y-y-yes, Muhmis…”

“Go on.”

“He got mad at me and said he was going…was going to…uh…uh…” The shivers come back even stronger, and Gwen shakes me slightly, enough to make my teeth snap together. “He said he was going to cut out the obscene Draka growth in my belly, and then he tried…and I tried to get away, and something in me roared out, and everything went slow…I was growling, Gwen…and I…the umbrella pole, from one of the beach tables…I…I didn’t mean to kill him, I just wanted him to stop, that’s all…oh, god, I’ve never killed anyone, Muhmis…but he was going to…”

“Sssaaa, child. It’s all right. You did well,” Gwen purrs, holding me close. Her hands stroke down my back, caressing, firm. “I am concerned you didn’t tell me of the first incident, but we’ll…explore… that avenue later. Right now, the important things are that you’re all right, and so is the baby, and that you managed to kill the feral. It’s going to be fine, sweetlin’, just fine.”

I hear, from a distance, Shawonda’s voice, and then there’s a sudden cold pinprick on my arm. I have time to see Tamarindus come in the French doors, her face grim, before the room fades into nothing. I feel Gwen’s arms around me, and then drift into oblivion.

**  
“Alice will be here soonest, Muhmis,” Shawonda says, standing rigid beside Erin’s bed. If it was possible, she’d be pale. Her heart beats staccato, racing, and her extremities show cold to my vision. She is afraid, and right to be afraid.

I nod. “Wench,” I say softly, “you are very lucky that Erin’s your friend… and that I’m quite attached to her. You understand me?”

She nods, swallowing. Her eyes flick between me and the window. A weapons platform is circling above, glimpses of slick black memet through the pouring gray of the rain; my imagination feels as if my skin was tingling with the intensity of the scanners. The hypersonic crash of its arrival broke windows fifteen seconds after Erin’s report to me. I go on to the serf:

“It didn’t occur to you that your transducer has a record function, and that I could download anything you’ve seen or said or heard since it was implanted?” A shake of the head. “Well, it’s also very lucky for you that you were frank with me about your little indiscretion. That saved your life. Technically, you’ve earned the death penalty.” I pause, while she trembles. “You’re also lucky I’m Archon of this world, because I’m suspending the sentence; otherwise you’d be on the stake right now. But don’t try my patience again. There’s a limit to what I’ll do even for my brooder and favorite saafn… and incidentally, you are very far from favorite status right now. Understand?”

The last is in a low snarl, my face nearly touching hers. She’s rigid, the whites showing all around her eyes. I let the pheromones subside.

“And you’re committed now, at seventh and last,” I say softly. “You’re mine.”

Yes, god help me, yes… she subvocalizes. I listen carefully; it’s not conscious, not an attempt at deception.

“Good,” I say more mildly. “Now, Shawonda, obviously I wasn’t alert enough with you – overconfidence on my part. I’m going to give you more of my personal attention from now on, and I expect you to break to me completely, heart and soul, and believe me, I can tell. You’ll cooperate fully in the process. Regular doses of philos –” the standard truth-drug “—to check on you. No third chances. Understood?”

She nods, eyes riveted on me.

“And there will be punishment. You’ll survive it, that’s all.” I smile a little and go on more mildly: “How’s Erin?”

“Ss—” Shawonda gathers herself; she has plenty of nerve. “She’s fine, Muhmis. The scanner records a real spike in the adrenaline output, but it’s dying down.” She shakes her head. “A beach-umbrella? I didn’t think Erin was that much of a wild woman.”

I nod absently, looking down at my brooder. Self-control clamps down on the searing rage that threatens to overwhelm me at the thought of a threat to my child; and I feel an almost equally overwhelming surge of warmth for Erin, who fought to protect the Draka she carries.

“It’s part of the pregnancy,” I say absently. “Not that Erin’s not a fighter naturally, but the fetus carries instructions which amplify the fight-flight reflex. Berserker mode, to protect herself and the child. Otherwise she might have listened to her inhibitions, hesitated, and gotten hurt herself.” I smile wryly. “For one brief moment, she experienced what it feels like to be an angry drakensis.”

Alice comes in, her face white with fear, more shocked to see me in battle armor. “Muhmis –”

“Take this download,” I say, and trigger the transfer of data to her transducer; what we know, what we think, and the background. Then I go on aloud:

“I’m in a hurry, sweetlin’. Stay here with Erin; she’ll wake up in an hour or so, and she’ll be shaky and upset, probably. You assimilate that and fill her in; I may be too busy. Shawonda, you wait for me in my quarters. We’re going to have a little session.” 

I turn and stride away. There’s work at the clinic, and I welcome the violence of the storm outside, a fitting counterpoint to that in my soul.

“It’s highly unorthodox, Uhmis Archon,” the tech says.

“Paratemporal travel is unorthodox,” I snap. “Get used to things that aren’t in the rule-file under ‘standard procedure’.”

I look down at the memet casing of the statis chamber. “Give me a summary,” I say.

“We’ve stabilized the body,” the tech says; like many servus, he’s a fussy type. “It’s beyond actual revival – massive exsanguinations, leading to loss of higher brain functions. The AI is exploring the cortex now, though, and we should get a fair amount of memory retrieval.”

Within the container, tendrils finer than neurons will be weaving through the dead brain, recording, stimulating cells into bursts of pseudo-life. A pity we can’t revive him; it would be fitting for him to die twice. Although Erin managed something reasonably similar to the traditional impalement, if somewhat too hasty.

“Show me,” I command. 

He closes his eyes and drops into link. A holo image forms above the casket; blurred, then sharpening as the AI fills in gaps from its own data. Erin’s face, twisted into a mask of killing rage, lunging with the umbrella.

“Ah, good, some of the short-term memory survived,” I say. “Get whatever you can… do you need more facilities?”

The servus auxiliary shakes his head. “No, Uhmis Archon. This is a… a matter of finesse rather than brute capacity. The Andros central comp has more than enough capacity.”

“Well-done,” I say, and give him approval/reassurance. He flushes with the pleasure. “Keep at it, and report to Strategos Glynsson’s staff immediately if you get names or identities.”

Gunnar, I key. He’s in the weapons platform, linked with the scanners.

Nothing, he replies. Which is suspicious in itself.

Indeed. The device is Samothracian?

Definitely, he thinks. 

Schematics download; I recognize the angular feel of Samothracian compinset and circuitry design, and the twisty subtlety of it. The shell is memet, not exactly the same configuration as we’d use. Sensors, a surprisingly capable compcore, and electronic and neutrino broadcasters of quite impressive range. 

Self-destruct took most of the data, he says. But Security says it’s part of their standard espionage package. Now that we know a Samothracian is here, we can have the AI’s check all transducers on a second-to-second basis. If any of them is jammed again, we’ll be on it immediately.

Legate Tamirindus?

She drops into the link. The event-waves are so subtle that we wouldn’t be able to filter them from quantum noise if we didn’t already know there must be an incursion. About a month ago; quite small scale – well under a ton, and well out in space. Beyond the Oort, to a high degree of probability. Small package; no more than one agent, with say a hundred pounds of equipment; a steal pod sent in on a ballistic orbit.

Good work, I say. Obviously, we need a full-fledged space scanner capacity, even if it is locking the compound gates after the escape – begin reconfiguring the sensor suites of the orbital stations. We probably also need a real warship here – Talon class, say, light and fast. Get on it; I want a report on whether it’ll be more cost-effective to bring it right through, or increase our fabricator capacity and build it here.

I think, in the clear swift disciplined mode the Scholarium of War teaches. Ah, yes…

“Dianne.” The publicist comes forward, looking shaken but alert. “This is a minor terrorist incident, with the usual perpetrators are being dealt with announcement. Sit on any speculation – direct Archonal orders, understood.”

“Your will, Muhmis,” she replies crisply, and reaches for her phone and keyboards.

“Merarch de Lange,” I continue.

The Draka officer in charge of Archonal household security comes to attention. “Your command, Archon?”

“Philos-interrogation for all Household members, and do a full scan-download from their transducers. Step up the transducer implant program for all critical personnel; push it to a thousand a week. Keyword continuous scan from all humans with transducer implants. That ought to get us some leads fairly quickly. Follow them up rigorously.”

The conference goes on; mostly with my Draka subordinates, occasionally bringing a human into the link. After an hour or so all the orders are given, and I return to the house. What a stroke of luck this didn’t happen earlier, I think. A Samothracian cyber-warrior loose on the planet before the Project succeeded… I shudder a little at the thought. It’s not pleasant even now, and I snarl with the rage any Draka feels at an enemy violating their territory.

The Household is tense, aware that something unusual has happened. I adjust my pheromones to broadcast reassurance; not easy, when I’m still jumping with undischarged aggression, but I manage – the staff deserve no less. Well, with some exceptions, I think, pouring myself a brandy and pacing in my private quarters. Part of my mind wants to go over and over the measures I’ve taken; I push it down firmly. I’ve done everything I can for now. It’ll take time to assemble extra equipment and personnel on the Prime Line, more time to get them here. There’s nothing too major that one Samothracian with light equipment can do, now that we’re warned.

Shawonda. She’s waiting, kneeling with her hands folded. I’ve let my pheromones peak, everything from sexual stimulation to fear-aggression, and in the confined space they hit her like a blow to the back of the head – from the smell of her sweat, she’s upset enough already. She swallows convulsively, shivering, as I command the battle-armor to flow away to its storage bin. Her scent is creamy-salt with fear, arousal, resignation… I should have noticed, I think. Her submission smelled superficial before. Damn you, Ingolfsson, pay attention to things like that! Arrogant overconfidence is our great weakness.

“Your… will, Muhmis?” she stutters.

“You’re going to get the mildest punishment possible,” I say, pinning her with my eyes. “This is a test. If you can take it in the right… spirit… things can be normalized. Offenses forgiven.”

“I understand,” she says quietly. “Thank you, Muhmis.”

“Good. Strip down and come here.” She obeys, biting her lower lip. “Don’t do that,” I say. “You might hurt yourself.”

I lift her across my lap, bent over my left thigh, legs clamped between mine, and take both her wrists in my left hand. “Shawonda, you endangered the whole Household. That was a very bad mistake. You let in someone who nearly killed the child, and Erin – and Erin risked everything to keep you alive.”

“Yes, Muhmis.” Her voice is tight with fear, but there’s sincerity there too. “I’m… I’m very sorry.”

“Do you accept this? Do you feel I’m right to punish you? The truth, now.”

“Yes, Muhmis.”

“Good. Don’t fight this, just feel it. First pain, and then some intense pleasure mixed with pain. Learn your lesson.”

I raise my right hand high and bring the palm down on her buttocks with precisely calculated violence. The flat slap echoes through the room, along with her gasp. After the third stroke she begins to cry, wailing softly; she’s never done that before, either – broken cries of sorry, so sorry mixed with the sobs. Her body is unresisting, pliable, relaxing after every shuddering jerk at the impact of my blows; I feel and scent the changes as the punishment and the pheromones have their way with her, pain and shame and growing excitement.

After the twenty-first slap I stop and lift her onto the bed. She’s sniffling, wiping at her eyes with her pink-palmed hands. Then she holds them out to me, lying back and spreading her knees wide. 

“Please…” she whispers. “Let me serve you, I’m yours, ride me.”

The sight and sound flip my anger over into lust; from a chill in lungs and heart to a flush of heat. I snarl and take her, watching the convulsive heave of pleasure and then the small scream of pain as she tenses bruised muscles in involuntary reflex. My arm moves again.

“Learn!” I snarl, my voice in Command Mode. My mouth comes down on hers.

**

“How are you feeling, Erin?” I say gently, taking her hand.

The sun is setting; and the breeze is blowing the curtains; the storm has died down to rain, pattering and pooling, filling the air with the smell of wet sand, rock, plants. From the scatter of toys and storybooks, the children were in here not long ago… yes, I can take their scents still lingering on the moist cool air. Alice is sitting on the other side of the bed. Erin rolls her head towards me, still a little groggy. 

“Better,” she says. “Sleepy.”

“You can use the rest, it speeds healing,” I say, letting approval-reassurance drift around her. “You did very well.”

There’s doubt in her eyes: “Yes, you should have told me about this mad feral, but what happened is more than punishment enough.” I make myself think in the symbolism of her species and culture. “It was… self-defense, what you did. For yourself, and the child – and Patrick, Alice, Jennifer, me. You gave him more than one chance to save his life, and he repaid you by attacking you.”

“Ummm… Shawonda?”

The black woman smiles at her, moving a little stiffly to the side of the bed. “Hey, thanks, girl,” she says. “You saved my ass too.” At that she touches herself for a second and winces. “Mostly,” she adds, with a shaky smile. “And mostly you saved it from me.”

Erin’s eyes go back to me. “That’s done with,” I say. “She’s paid her price.”

“Could have been a lot worse – I realize that,” Shawonda says. “Hell, settin’ things up so that guy could go after you with a knife, girl, it’s less than I deserve.”

“We’ve got things pretty well under control,” I go on. “I’m afraid you’ll have to honeymoon somewhere Security can patrol, though – unless you’d rather go back to the Prime Line?” She shakes her head. “Well, then, pick a spot; they’ll be unobtrusive.”

“I… I don’t really want to leave you alone at a time like this,” Erin says doubtfully. My heart melts, and I lean forward and kiss her.

“Nonsense, sweetlin’. You and Alice deserve a week on your own, and then we’ll all be glad to see you back.”

**  
Taking the air car into Tahiti was fairly easy, since it did all the flying for me, I think as the transparent walls of the craft show us settling down on a landing pad, one shaded by swaying palm trees and flowers. Alice sighs, looking at the scenery, and grips my hand tightly.

“Gawd, to think I almost lost you yesterday…and now we’re here. Tahiti. You’re getting pretty good at flying this thing, too, aren’t you, sweetest?”

“Well, not really…it does just about everything for you…” I smile, squeezing her hand back. I shove the memories of what happened on the stormy beach at Andros firmly into the back of my mind, and focus on the here-and-now. Our honeymoon, I blush, and Alice catches it. She leans over and kisses me, hard, on the mouth, her tongue probing…

“Ummm…let’s wait until we’re at the beachside cottage, darlin’…we’ve got…mmmhh… an audience,” I manage, gently fending her amorous advances off…temporarily. My heart’s racing; I can feel the blood pounding through me, a heat too fierce to be denied for long. Curious onlookers have come near the air car, and it activates its crowd-control devices. Subsonic blasts, more felt than heard, send the crowd backing over the grass and dunes, eyes wide. My transducer links with the air car, and I tone the warning down. No need to have their bones rattled, I think.

The air car extrudes a ramp for us, and the two servus, Yannan and Roste, a beautiful pair if ever I saw any, take our light baggage in hand, waiting for our direction. I’m still not used to their deference, their willing obedience, I think, but I could get used to it. Grinning, I pat Yannan on his bare, muscular back as we exit the ship, and he blushes under his dark tan. Pills have done that for us, but both he and Roste have tanned complexions naturally. Roste gathers her white-blonde, long hair in one hand, hefting one of Alice’s bags in the other, and squints out into the bright sunlight. Shards of brightness wink off the waves in the ocean as we walk along the beach. The smell of water, ocean water, and food greet me…and my stomach rumbles in happiness.

More servants and some functionaries—managers of the exclusive resort, I suppose—are waiting in line to greet us, bowing and scraping. Alice drinks it in, nodding her head regally every once in a while. I try to ignore it, since it embarrasses me. I end up grinning like a possum up a tree and sigh with relief when we’re shown to our cottage. They call this a cottage, I wonder in amazement—what I’d call it is a beachfront one-story mansion! Palm-frond roof or no! Jeezie-petes! I know from what Gwen told me as we left that this whole island is under constant surveillance, and this resort has been cleared out, except for us and staff to serve us. Man! Wish…I wince slightly. I wish Peter was here to see this…

“Oh, this is lovely, really lovely, isn’t it? Hmm? Hey, dreamy—wake up and smell the coffee. It’s ours, all ours, for a week! Oh, I can’t believe it! Did you see the beaches? They’re wonderful. And look in here at the master bedroom—oh, sheila, are we gonna have fun!” Alice is chortling in joy, her eyes bright, and it’s contagious. I watch as it spreads to our servus pair, and then to me…we’re running through the house, giggling, peeking into rooms, refrigerators, cabinets…the place is a mansion.

I’m looking out the bedroom windows when Alice catches up with me. Her mouth on mine, she leads me un-protesting to the bed, stripping me expertly out of my shorts and shirt. Tumbling into bed, we revel in each other…I stop, suddenly, aware of eyes on us. Roste and Yannan, both naked, stand in the sunlight-dappled doorway, waiting…waiting our pleasure. Oh, gosh…this is part of their service to us, I wonder, and gasp slightly. They’re beautiful, erotic-looking in the South Pacific sun and shade. Alice looks up, toward them, from her position on top of me, and then grins whitely down at my face and shocked expression. 

“It’ll be fun, and we better enjoy it while we can, before we turn into human blimps, lover…hey, Erin, it’s fine…believe me, trust me…c’mon, you two lovelies, come join your seras…oh, yes!” Alice groans with pleasure as I move beneath her and hands caress her from all sides. The afternoon passes in a blur of passion, tension building, peaking and then subsiding into a glorious relaxation.

**  
“So you have had to take pills from the Overlords to get that tan, Sera Erin?” Roste’s yellow-blue eyes look me over, admiring. I blush, visible beneath the tan, especially since I’m naked as a jay bird. We’re sitting on a raft moored in the calm ocean, and I’m getting my breathe back. Snorkeling and then making out like a mad mink with Roste, on top of having Alice drive me wild for hours, is starting to wear my poor body out. A pile of shells, amazingly colored, huge in size, sits next to us, and I start putting them into the mesh bag I carried out here.

“Yes; otherwise, I’d be lobster-colored right now. So you can just adjust your tan, at will? Were you this dark on Mars, at Rohmplace?”

“Oh, no, Sera Erin—both Yannan and I were pale, like everyone else there. But when we heard we were going to be gifts to you and Sera Alice, both honored brooders to the Overlords, we altered our coloring to prepare for the ultraviolet here…what’s a lobster?” She helps me place shells in the mesh bag, and smiles up at me brightly.

“Um, it’s a crustacean…you eat them…they turn bright red when you boil ‘em. I don’t much care for them myself, but Alice is wild about them. I think she’s having some tonight, so you can try it and see if you like it. It’s very sweet meat.”

“Like you, Sera Erin?” Her mouth finds mine, and the shells are forgotten for a few wonderful moments… I hear a bell, off in the distance, and realize it’s coming from the shore. We sit up and look, shading our eyes, and see Yannan and Alice waving, as Yannan rings the brass ship’s bell.

“Time for showers before dinner, old girl,” I smile and Roste strokes my hair from my face. 

“You’re so…sweet. I mean, personally, not just…you know. But sometimes you’re fierce, almost like an Overlord…I don’t understand. Humans…no offense, sera…”

“Hell, I don’t understand humans either, and I’m one of them, kiddo! Come on, let’s get back to the beach. Race ya!” I dive into the water, closely followed by Roste, and we swim quickly through the bright blue and green water to the gently sloping beach.

**  
Muhmis? Gwen? I send through my transducer, as I sit watching the sun rise over the mist on the ocean. Birds flit by, out over the water, fishing, and my coffee steams in my mug, its aroma rich and pleasant.

Yes, Erin? Anything wrong? Gwen’s voice whispers gently in my head, and I smile.

No, nothing wrong…just wanted to check in and say hi. Hi.

A chuckle, and then I hear her say: Having a grand time on Tahiti, sweetlin’? How are the two pretties Tamarindus gave you two doing? Breaking in well?

Um…yeah. Yes. They’re really great folks. They’re so excited about being here, Muhmis. Tell Tamarindus thanks again…

Oh, you can tell me personally…any way you want, pretty-girl, Tamarindus cuts in.

I squeak, subvocally, and hear/feel the two Draka laugh gently at me. They ought to be excited, girl, says Tamar, since they were basically going to be agritechs at Rohmplace…but I enjoyed their parents, so I thought you and Alice would enjoy this pair…

Oh, jeezie petes, they’re brother and sister? My mouth drops open in shock. But we… they… oh, man…

They have some strange taboos, Tamar, Gwen notes. Servus have different… mores that you, Erin. It’s fine. Better for them than being…what’s the word, farmhands? They’ll serve you well. And you’ll serve us well. How are you feeling?

Fine, glowing, Muhmis. I always thought that was a figure of speech, but I don’t think it’s just the honeymoon…I feel fine. We’ll be going to Sydney tomorrow, so Alice can get her shopping fix in, and then we’ll be back. I miss the babies…

I know; they miss you too. Patrick or Alexa come dashing into my office every time an air car lands, thinking it’s the two of you…found them some pretty shells, darlin’?

I smile, knowing how Gwen indulges my collecting instinct. Yes, Muhmis—some really beautiful ones. We’ve all been snorkeling voraciously…

I bet that’s not all you’ve been doing voraciously…Gwen’s laugh rings like a bronze bell in my head, and I laugh out loud as shivers trickle down my back at the sound of her voice.

You’re right there, Gwen! May not be able to work when we do get back…I’ll have to recover first…

I’m sure Gwen and I can…motivate…you to do your best, pretty pony, whispers Tamarindus, and I blush.

Oh, yes, Uhmis Tamarindus…um, I hear the others getting up, so I better go—thanks for talking with me. See you soon and give the kids a big hug from us, will you? I feel their amused acknowledgement, and break the link, using the respectful mode. I’m getting used to using this here critter, I think to myself, and hear laughter in the kitchen. Time to go get breakfast…

**  
“Why do the humans here talk so oddly, Sera Erin?” Yannan brushes his long blond hair back from his face, and I notice a confused frown cross his features. “They sound… familiar, I mean, they use some of the same words, but they pronounce things… oddly. Sera Alice does, sometimes, when she’s excited, but these… I have trouble understanding some of them. What’s beee-yah? I don’t want to give offense…”

“You won’t, don’t worry. Beee-yah is Aussie for “beer”, the fermented beverage you enjoy so much. As far as the way they talk, they know you’re not from here, so they don’t expect you to understand all their lingo, their terms. Australians have unique words, and ways of using them. It’s okay, really. I’ve got trouble with some of it myself, but then again, my southern accent doesn’t help matters much,” I laugh, patting his arm. He grins back at me, relieved, and hefts the shopping bags as Rosta and Alice emerge from the boutique, arm in arm.

“More stuff, Alice? We’ll have to send it back separately…I don’t think the air car can handle all this. Man, what’s this?” I point at a black silk jacket peeking out of one of the crinkly paper bags, and Alice shrieks.

“No, damn it—don’t look, now—go on, turn around for a moment, love—no peeking,” Alice says as she stuffs the black jacket deeper inside the bag. “Told that girl to wrap it so you couldn’t…can’t get help around here, no matter what, damn it…here, Rosta, take this bag, and don’t let Sera Erin look inside, no matter what, ‘kay?”

“All right, Sera Alice. I promise.” The girl giggles delightfully and squeezes the bag to her chest, eyeing me.

“May I turn around now, or will there be more girly squeals?”

“I’ll make you squeal, you vixen…” Alice murmurs into my ear, tickling me. She takes my hand in hers and leads the way down the avenue. A few Draka are about, most wearing memet suits, so they appear as featureless black liquid statues as they walk about, taking in the sites, the natives. I shiver slightly as one stares at us for a few seconds, as we make our bows. The Draka inclines its head a bit, in deference to our owner, and stalks on by.

“Sure am glad Gwen put those codes on our transducers, old girl…it could get rather dicey, otherwise,” I say quietly to my lover as we pass under the shade of some trees. The sounds of the city are quieter than usual, not as many cars and trucks hogging the road—more walkers, more bicycles. It’s nice; it doesn’t smell as bad as a big city usually does. 

I catch the aroma of coffee, and steer us over to the curbside café. Wrought-iron tables and chairs are scattered about, and we sit discretely in a corner. The twins follow us, carrying the morning’s purchases Alice just couldn’t live without, and wait for a moment before joining us at the table.

“It’s okay; we don’t expect you to sit somewhere else, or on the ground, or anything, guys. Just pull up a chair, and hand me a menu from that table over there. Let’s see what they’ve got…the coffee smells great, doesn’t it?” I smile at the two blonds, gifts to us from Tamarindus Rohm, for our wedding. They beam back, and pore over the menu with the two of us.

I make my decisions about dinner and sit back, waiting for the others to decide, and find myself enjoying the mild warmth of the sun, the slight breeze, and an overall feeling of complete and utter relaxation. It feels so right, somehow. There are parts that still strike me as strange, like the twins, but I’m adjusting. 

They’re obviously thrilled to belong to us and to be on this grand adventure, that’s for sure, I think, smiling fondly at their tousled blond manes. Alice’s hair is wind-scattered, too, but a deeper, wheat-blonde color. Her perfume, a faint musky one, wafts over to me and I inhale, enjoying…

The meals arrive post-haste, well-done and nicely presented. My grilled chicken salad is wonderfully chilled and crisp, and the coffee really is quite good. Not as good as what we had on the Prime Line, but almost. I sip it, savoring the taste. Alice is devouring a hamburger with relish and the twins are having their first “bloomin’ onion” as well as their first milkshakes. Their exotic good looks get them, and us, quite a few glances. 

Some are curious, some envious. A few just stare, flatly, guardedly—they’re the ones I worry about. I look around for the security team that shadows us, and spot one of them leaning against a flowering plant in a huge terra-cotta pot. He nods, ever so slightly, his eyes roving constantly. After what Gwen did to Vulk, the human security team members have become almost obsessively serious about protecting us, even at the risk of their own lives. I shiver, a bit, and find my eyes drawn to a store front across the way from our café.

“Stirling’s Rare Book Emporium” says the sign, in quaint Gothic lettering, and my mouth waters. Books—I love reading, always have. I wonder what the store carries, I think, and put my napkin down. The twins stop eating immediately, looking up alertly at me. “Nah, go on, finish—I’m going on an expedition of my own, to that bookstore over there. It looks fun,” I say, winking at Alice.

She smiles indulgently and nods. “Go on, I’ve dragged you all over the better parts of Sydney today, so I guess one bookstore won’t hurt. We’ll join you in a bit, love—first I’d like some of this cheesecake for dessert. Anyone else up for it?” A chorus of yeses follows, and I walk slowly over to the book emporium.


	30. Chapter Thirty

Chapter 30

I smile, enjoying Erin’s pleasure for a moment after we cut the link. “The servus were a nice touch, Tamar.”

Theoretically, she gave them to me, since Erin and Alice are mine, but that’s a formality. It would be odd if saafn of their status, and brooders to boot, didn’t have personal servants of their own. I wonder how Erin will react to bedding a servus? I wonder. Bit of a change for her to be a dominant, and that’s how a servus would react to her.

“You’re welcome,” Tamar says, arching her back. “Harder there,” she says to Shawonda, who’s kneading along her spine. “Rohmplace is overstaffed, if anything.”

The stormy weather has cleared up; I enjoyed swimming in the surf, but it’s nice to have some warmth to soak into my bones, after all the time I’ve spent in winter New York. Somehow the chill there strikes deeper than in a winter blizzard in the Himalayas. Well, we caught most of that little nest of ferals, I think. They took elaborate precautions – or what they thought were elaborate – but there’s no trace of the Samothracian yet. An intruder like that would be caught in days at most on the Prime Line, but things are more chaotic here. There are billions of uncatalogued humans for him to hide among, and his stealthing will be first-rate – a few crucial percentage points better than ours, in fact. Eventually we’ll get him; we outnumber him in personnel and machines, and quantity has a quality all its own, as the Domination has demonstrated more than once.

When we do, I’ll kill him myself if it’s at all possible. He threatened my brooder and child! I push the snarl back down and take a piece of cracker, cheese and olives from a tray and eat it. The wine cooler is really quite nice, although back on the Prime Line they’d call it barbarism to put tonic water in a good white zinfandel.

Ah, I note, looking at my thought. I’m not thinking back home any more. This new world I’ve taken for my own is home now. Here I will live, and my blood after me.

This is a little poolside party, myself and some of the top people, here as guests in my Household. I haven’t been this relaxed around other Draka in centuries; we cooperate better with real work to deal with, not just our rivalries with each other. The hundred years after the Final War, yes, while we healed Earth and remade the Solar System; then our quarrels were far less likely to end in blood. We hunted together then… and this is recapturing that feeling for me. They’re good youngsters, the ones under my command here. Good for the Race, too, blowing the cobwebs out of our brains and the rust from our skills.

Gunnar, Dion de Lange, Tamirindus, myself. And our personal servants, of course. I watch Gunnar’s Winona playing in the pool, throwing a plastic ball to John, the young English human; Devla and Josie are lying on the other side of the water in the shade of a flowering tree, talking and reading magazines. Taking a deep breath, I can catch the young brown skinned brooder’s scent, turning mellow and lovely.

“Ah, better,” Tamar purrs as hands slap down on the muscles of her back. 

Shawonda looks surprised, since she’s using all the strength of her forearms and putting her weight into it too; it takes a while for humans to realize how much less fragile our bodies are than theirs. They’re so easily damaged, even more so than servus. She’s also looking exhausted, after a week of my concentrated attention, helped out by others. It’s helping breaking-in along splendidly, though; she’s really trying this time.

“Now the oil,” my friend commands. The serf pours some on and begins spreading it in; I enjoy the scent, sharp and tanging of pine and terebinth.

Dianne coughs discreetly. I nod to her. 

“As far as I can tell, comment has died down completely,” she says, hands resting on the keyboard of her laptop. “I only had to kill two stories – one in the tabloids.” I share her chuckle; Tom opens his eyes, and speaks from where he’s lying on a blanket.

“I think they’re in worse shock than anyone else – two years and they still haven’t adapted to the fact that there are real alien invaders now.” He opens the magazine beside him: it’s called Esquire. “Hmmm. Now, this article is about you Overlords, Muhmis, yu’massn.” Tom has gotten better at Talk than any human I’ve met.

“What does it say, Tom?” I ask.

“Well, it’s about your sartorial sense – how well you dress,” he goes on, an undertone of laughter in his voice, and quotes: “Dark dramatic colors, and always cut to quietly enhance the impact of those wonderful physiques, with a touch of buccaneer flamboyance in gold and crimson…”

He flicks through pages. “Ah, and this one’s about me.” I lean over and scan the article. 

“Interesting to know you’re a power behind the throne and an influential advisor on environmental issues,” I say. Tom preens a little, exaggerating for effect. “Doesn’t mention that you’re an excellent mount, though”

“That’s implied in my close and continuous relationship with you, Muhmis,” he says. “And in my active social life, meaning I’m seen at the right parties, looking mysterious and saying little beyond hints. They like the way I dress, too.”

“Humans,” Gunnar says, amused bewilderment in his voice.

His human saafn come and sit by his lounger. “What was that about humans, muhmas?” John says. He’s black-haired and slender, dark-skinned, blue-eyed – a dancer, I think Gunnar mentioned; a mixture of Europoid and South Asian strains. His owner runs a hand through his straight raven-colored mane and kisses him.

“You’re weird. Intriguing, but strange.”

“Well, Draka are even odder,” Winona says, toweling water out of her curly brown hair. “I played an android once, a couple of years ago, and you’re stranger than anything I came up with… and I’m a method actress. Muhmas.”

Everyone near enough to hear chuckles, except Barbara. Dianne’s secretary has her head down, eyes on the screen of her perscomp; clumsy things, but we’ll have to have them on hand until the local electronics are modernized. I take her scent; she’s sweating a little – not odd, since she’s the only one here wearing any clothes – and there’s an edge of fear to it. I smile a little at that, in a way that would make her more uneasy, if she could see it. One thing humans seem unable to grasp is that nervousness is counterproductive around us. It speaks to certain instincts.

“Oh, Muhmis, I think Town and Country want to do an article on the Tahiti resort Erin and Alice are using for their honeymoon,” Dianne goes on. “After they’re gone, of course – well after. It’ll make the resort’s fortune. Deneuve and Girlfriends want to cover that too… do you have the file, Barbara?”

“Yes ma’am.” She manages to hand the papers to her superior without looking up.

“Well, that seems all right,” I say, taking them and flicking through them at two-second-a-page scan mode. “I’m surprised at the amount of fuss -- I thought honeymoons were a local custom? Certainly. Erin and Alice can do this interview if they want, but warn the reporters they’re not to bother them if they don’t.”

A few of the local paparazzi thought they could annoy us as if we were human celebrities, but they didn’t think so long. A few cuffs and some broken bones disabused them of the notion. Why powerful humans tolerated them so long is an utter mystery to me.

“Errr –” Dianne says. “Ah, not exactly honeymoons like this, Muhmis. Thank you, Barbara.”

That brings my attention back to the secretary. Ah, yes, she’s the one who walked in on me and Tamar that time when Erin’s surprisingly repulsive dam showed up. The fear-sweat is distinctive, accenting the individuality of her scent. Fear does that, or aggression; they make a human stand out to the nose, like a red flag.

“Barbara,” I say; the other Draka can catch the under-harmonics in my voice, and they chuckle.

“Yes, Muhmis,” she says, swallowing.

“What are you so nervous about?” I say.

…oh Christ why did I try for this job they’re going to take me it’s feeding hour at the tiger cage and I’m in it Jesus …

“Yes,” I say. “You’re on the buffet of the carnivores’ carnival now,” I say. “But come now, wench, we’re not going to literally eat you. You’re perfectly safe from actual harm here, more than anywhere else on this world. Get into the spirit of things. Accept what is.”

She looks up and blanches; four pair of drakensis eyes are focused on her, which would be enough to startle any human. The others are all stirring a little, familiar with the effects of our pheromones and adept at catching our moods.

“Why don’t you get more comfortable?” I suggest, grinning, feeling playfulness bubble up. She’s fairly pretty, too. Unremarkable face, brown eyes and hair, but a rather nice figure in a full stocky sort of way. Each human’s a little different… “Without those clothes, for instance.”

…knew this was going to happen sometime but here oh Christ I can’t I’ve got to…

“Hmmm.” Perhaps that would be a little too stressful, since she’s inexperienced. “You’ve got a point, little human. Stop.”

She stops with her fingers on the top button of her blouse. I turn my head. “Run along then, Barbara,” I say, lying back on the lounger. “For now. Mind if I have Shawonda back, Tamar?”

“She’s yours, after all,” Tamar laughs.

I catch Barbara’s eyes as she leaves. “Drop by after dinner,” I say, putting reassurance in my tones. “Dianne’s quite satisfied with your work for the Information Office, but you need to be more relaxed for maximum efficiency.” Once she knows what it’s like, she won’t spend so much time worrying. “And don’t… fret… so around us. It’s like running away from a wolf; it just makes us want to… catch you. Or it annoys us, which is even more foolish.”

“Thank you, Muhmis,” she whispers, and scuttles away.

Shawonda sits on the foot of my lounger, smiling at me, beats of sweat and massage-oil glistening on the ebony of her skin. “And Dianne, you come over here too,” I say.

“What about me?” Tom laughs.

“You wait your turn, buck,” I say. “No, go serve Merarch de Lange.”

Pleasant way to spend a few free hours, I think. And good management. We of the Race here need to be one pack, with genuine peril threatening.

**  
“All set?” I look over at Alice, sitting somewhat behind me in the air car, and then further back, at Yannar and Roste. The twins bob their heads and Alice yawns.

“Urmm…yeah, love—let’s go. Back to the grind, as it were…” My lover, my wife, now, I correct myself, grins at me and winks. “Be good to see the kids, too. Have you missed them as much as I have?”

“Yes! Can’t wait. Okay, then, off into the wild blue yonder…” The air car lifts us smoothly; I see other air cars and floaters near us but nothing too close. The schematic the ‘car provides helpfully guides me through piloting in a busy airspace, and then we’re clear. Truly in the wild blue yonder. I lean back into the seat, hands resting lightly on the extruded controls, and take in the sights.

“It’ll be about two hours or so, since we got permission to go suborbital, gals and guy… check out the stars!” Every time this happens—seeing the stars like this, with only a thin layer of atmosphere between us and the beauty, my heart races. I don’t ever want to get used to this thrill, this jolt. I look behind me and notice, with a chuckle, that Alice has fallen asleep.

“Sera Erin?” Yannar speaks up quietly.

“Yo!”

“Um…” He hesitates, pondering my reply. 

I grin at him and continue: “That means something like, yes, or hello, or what’s up… so, what’s up, doc?”

“I’m not a ‘doc’, I don’t think, Sera Erin…”

“Urrrgh! That’s just a saying from a cartoon show. And haven’t I asked y’all to call me Erin, just Erin, when we’re alone like this? The other sounds so damn formal. Quit! I’m not 98 yet, or anything. What did you want to ask me, old boy?”

He smiles, blushing under his tan. “Well, since Se... ah, Alice, that is, is sleeping, we were wondering if we could do the same. I know I’m pretty tired, and I’d like to be a bit rested when we meet everyone—the Overlords, the other servants—at Andros. Would it be all right if I napped, and if Rosta did, too?”

His sister chimes in with a yawn, and I laugh, softly. “Sure, that’s fine, guys. I’ll wake you before we get there, so you can get freshened up. ‘Kay?”

As they settle down to sleep, curled up next to each other like kittens, I sigh, relishing the relative privacy. Alice is snoring slightly, her mouth open just a bit. I carefully get up and walk over to her chair. “Honey, why don’t you recline that thing…Ally? Let me put the chair back for you, now—go back to sleep, darlin’.” I kiss her tenderly on the forehead, and she smiles.

I walk back to my seat at the front of the air car and dim the internal lights. I don’t feel sleepy at all; in fact, I feel sort of wired, energized, maybe…kind of hot, actually. Hmm. I strip off the sweater and enjoy the coolness of the cabin in just my singlet and slacks. I glance down at my stomach, and my hands caress it. Not showing too much yet, I think, but it’s coming along. 

Amazing to finally have a flat stomach, and legs to show off. Not to mention a bust, although mine will never be equal to Ally’s. I’ve always been sort of flat-chested, but now after nursing a baby, two, actually, if you count helping out Alice with Alexa, I sort of have something to show off upstairs. Amazing how sensitive they’ve become…

I stretch, and grimace. I’m more sore than I thought I’d be, for some reason. My muscles ache, and I notice a throbbing headache developing. Damn. That’s all I need, I mutter, and force myself to think about something else. Maybe if I ignore it, it’ll go away. Yannar murmurs something in his sleep, and shifts around on the broad couch behind me. Now that’s been an interesting time, I think, glancing down at him. His long blond hair is wrapped tightly in some sort of fancy braid, matching his sister’s, and his face, relaxed in sleep, is so handsome. The muscles on his tanned body stand out in clear definition, but he’s not muscle-bound. Strong, though…I blush, remembering him on top of me…

That was an accomplishment in itself, too, I grin silently to myself. He was so shocked that I wanted him on top, not me on top… I was shocked that I wanted him, period. But I did. Gadzooks, girl, they might take your queer card away if they found out…chuckling, I try to stretch again. And immediately wish I hadn’t…the muscle aches are growing worse, like cramps after a run. I massage my legs, the calves, and am rewarded by cramps in my hands. Great time to come down with some damn bug. But the honeymoon was so fantastic—so wonderful. Those reporters were kinda goofy, but Alice seemed so capable, handling them. I need to work on being comfortable in charge like she is, I guess.

It’s like with the twins, I think; Ally can give them orders without thinking about it, and I think she really enjoys being called Sera Alice. I hate it when they call me Sera Erin. My god, what’s wrong with just names? We don’t all have to act like… Draka, my mind supplies helpfully. The tiny, cold voice laughs softly. You don’t like acting like a Draka? You certainly don’t mind having serfs to carry things for you, or serve you in…other ways.

Like, hel-lo…who wouldn’t like that? No…the voice is right in some ways, although I screen it carefully to edit out the ghosts of my parents, the incredibly negative shit it used to say to me. It’s right. I don’t like acting like a Draka, but I do enjoy some of the benefits of being a high-status servant. I just wish I could find a balance between the two worlds, somewhere I felt…comfortable. Once I get the twins used to calling me Erin, maybe things will be better. I guess they’re almost hard-wired to be obedient and sensitive, though. 

Have to watch what you say to them, even jokingly. I made Rosta turn grey one day when she snuck up on me…I roared at her in mock anger, and before I could stop her, she was on the carpet, face to my feet, sobbing in terror. It made me feel woozy. I tried to comfort her, tell her I was just joking, but it really didn’t sink in for quite some time. Took Alice to completely calm her down, and for a few days afterwards, I noticed both Rosta and Yannan stepping very lightly around me.

The air car beeps into my ear as we start the descent to Andros. Took less time than I thought, but that’s fine. My head… I reach up to hold my forehead, which feels in imminent danger of blowing off, and am startled to find I’m bathed in sweat. Shakily, I get up and walk over to Alice’s reclined chair. “Ah, honey? Ally? Time to wake up…we’re almost there…”

“Oh, okay, cobber-mine…hmmm…say, why so pale? C’mere for a sec—” She reaches out for me but I move back, suddenly freezing cold. My teeth chatter and goose bumps stand at attention all over me. Man, I think, is this some sort of thing about being a brooder nobody told me about?

“Uh…brrr…no, let me wake the twins, first…” I walk back to the couch where they are snuggled together, and gently pat Rosta on the back. “Rosta, Yannan…time to get up, sweeties…almost there…” The room seems to tilt and spin on its axis, and I grab a-hold of the couch to keep my balance. Is there something wrong with the air car, or is it me? I feel Alice’s hands, warm on my arms, and lean back into her.

“Jesus! You’re a bloody furnace! Sit down over here, now!” She guides me to her chair and I lie down obediently. I really don’t feel so good now, I think to myself. Things are getting sort of fuzzy around the edges. The pain in my muscles and in my head is steadily rising, increment by increment.

“Oh, Ally… I don’ feel so good…ah…”

“Great. Oh, man…” Her face goes blank for a second, and then I hear Gwen’s voice in my head, whispering through the transducer in my mastoid bone.

Erin? What’s wrong? How long have you felt like this?

I speak out loud. “Not very long, maybe an hour… I dunno. I’m sleepy. I’m cold, wan’ a blanket. Mmmh…” The room tilts and spins more violently, and my stomach begins to churn.

“Listen, kid, we’re almost there, and Gwen’s got the clinic staff ready for you, okay? Erin? Erin, answer me…Erin?” Alice’s concerned voice seems to be coming from a long way away, and I try to answer her. Nothing comes out but a congested-sounding sigh.

When I open my eyes, Mamaw is leaning over me. She’s frowning. “How could you turn into a slave, girl, after all I taught you? Hmm? No ham for you tonight, and no homemade ice cream, either…” I try to catch her sleeve as she walks away, and explain.

“Mamaw, wait…I can explain… please, please—don’t be mad at me… Mamaw, I don’t feel so good…do I have to go to school today?” The room darkens again, and I’m sucked under the rising tide of unconsciousness again.

Pain awakens me…shooting pains, all through me. “Uhhh! Damn! Ohh! Stop… stop it…stop it,” I moan, writhing on the bed. Hands gently hold me down, and I try to think of where I am—oh, yeah, the hospital, after the Nimitz went down…it must be my burns and the cut on my back hurting so much, I reason to myself. “Let me up, damn it…don’t want any more of those fucking debridement baths… I mean it—listen to me, damn you…ah, it hurts…Peter, Peter…”

“Erin. Erin,” a familiar voice calls to me, commanding me. I try to place it, and it all comes back in a rush of memories. Gwendolyn Ingolfsson…my Muhmis, my owner… the Draka, the Project…Peter’s gone, so’s Ruthann…I turn my head from side to side, trying to make it stop hurting so much. I feel hands firmly hold my head, warmth from them spreading into my chilled body.

“Is she still delirious, Muhmis?” Alice’s voice cuts through the pain-filled fog, and I call her name, softly:

“Ally?”

“I’m right here, love, right here. So’s Muhmis, and Uhmis Tamarindus…you’ll be fine, really. The baby’s fine…come on, Erin, fight. Stay with us, now…”

“The baby?”

Gwen’s face comes into focus and I see concern in her eyes. “Yes, the baby you’re carrying for Tamarindus and me, sweetlin’. Remember?”

“Mmmhh… yeah. She’s okay? I’m cold, so cold…hold me, Gwen…” I try to reach for her but my arms are made out of lead, and I don’t have the strength. “Gwendolyn…”

“Sssaaa, my pretty-girl, it’s all right,” she murmurs, and sits on the bed with me, easily lifting me onto her lap, cradling me in her arms. I snuggle against her, feeling the warmth from her higher metabolism rushing into me. I feel chilled to the core, and shiver uncontrollably.

“W-w-what’s w-wrong with m-m-me?” My teeth are chattering and it’s all I can do to get the words out. Gwen’s hands stroke through my thick, short hair, and down my back, calming me, caressing me. Trails of fire seem to follow her fingertips.

“You’ve contracted some type of virus…we’re isolating it right now, and we’ll be able to genengineer a fix-it for you in very little time after that. Just be brave, like I know you are, my sweet Erin, and I’ll have you feeling better soon, promise. Shhh…it’s all right…hand me that blanket, Alice, there’s a dear…” Muhmis wraps the blanket around my shoulders as she holds me, and I curl up against her. The fierce throbbing ache in my muscles and in my head seems to lessen, just for a moment, and I try to take a deep breath. That’s a mistake, because it sets off a series of coughs that threaten to rip my lungs out. I see red and black spots before my eyes when I’m done, finally, and Gwen wipes my mouth with a tissue.

“Oh, I don’t feel good…”

“Sssaaa…shhhh….it’ll be all right, little one…my brooder, my saafn, we’ll make it all better.”

“Archon—here are the results. It’s a paravirus, an engineered one.”

Gwen’s head snaps up, looking at the other drakensis with fury in her eyes. “One of ours?”

“No. And I really don’t think the humans here have the ability to make this… I’d surmise a Samothracian origin. This type of virus could be given to someone through touch, or even in food or drink. It’s a hardy little bugger, but now that I have it isolated, I’m making an antiviral compound. Should take about twenty minutes, since I’ve hooked into one of the orbital platforms’ AI’s. She’s still damn hot, though…”

“Hot? I’m fucking freezing, you bozo—” and then I realize I’ve spoken out loud, and to a Draka, no less. I freeze, as well as I can against the shivers, and feel my stomach contract with fear.

The two Draka laugh, Gwen’s husky brass melding with his basso profundo. “Still feisty, though, so that’s a good sign, isn’t it, doctor?” Gwen chuckles, stroking me gently.

“Oh, yes…what’s a bozo, or should I ask?” He puts his hand on my forehead and sighs. “We really should get her into a cool bath, Archon. If her temperature goes much higher, it could impair brain functions. That wouldn’t be good for the fetal drakensis, either.”

“Hmmm…all right. Come along, my feisty little firecracker…let’s get you in the bath. No, Erin, don’t struggle, come on now…sssaaaa…” Gwen’s voice is smooth, reassuring, but commanding, and I relax into her arms again, weakly.

“Don’ wanna bath…I’m cold, Muhmis…so cold…”

“You’re fevered. We have to get the fever lower, or there’ll be complications.” She places me into the marble, oversized tub, into cool water, and my body spasms.

“Nnhhh---gahh, c-c-c-cold, nnnooo, Muhmis…please, please, I’ll be good, please, let me out…”

“Ah, my sweet, this isn’t punishment…” Gwen croons, stroking me while holding me immobile in the cool water. “It’s to make you cool down, darlin’, that’s all…Alice, use the face cloth, and wipe down her face, the back of her neck…that’s good, that’s right…” Long moments pass, moments of torture for me, even though I can hear the sincere concern in Gwen’s voice, and the worry in Alice’s.

Suddenly, as though someone flicked a switch, I’m in the dark again, spinning… falling…

**

“Good evening, little one,” Tamarindus says, leaning over me. I realize I’m in Gwen’s huge iron-posted bed, naked, under the covers. I feel deliciously warm now, all over, and tired, so tired. My eyes flutter, as I try to keep them open, but it’s a losing proposition.

“Uhmis Tamarindus? Where’s Gwen, Alice…what happened? Is the baby okay?”

“The baby’s just fine. The virus couldn’t get through drakensis defense systems. You, on the other hand, had a damn rough time of it. But you’re getting ever so much better now, Erin—soon you’ll be up and about. Gwen and your sweet Alice are eating dinner. I chased them off a few hours ago, and took over watching you. It’s been quiet; you’ve been sleeping, mostly. Who’s Chief Gray, and why do you think he’s an asshole?”

“Um…jeeze…he was one of my supervisors, my commanders, on board the Nimitz, a nuclear powered aircraft carrier…he was a jerk, that’s for damn sure, Uhmis… but he died. I tried to save him, but he died…” My eyes fill with tears, remembering that night.

Tamarindus purrs soothingly, pulling me to her, hugging me gently. “Now, no tears—we just got your congestion all cleared up…sssaaa, little one, my saafn…” Her lips meet mine, and I feel a blast of heat, of life, rush through me. I respond, as firmly as I can, and she chuckles through the kiss. Her tongue explores my mouth, and I know I taste like medicine…

“Ahem. Watching her, are you, Tamarindus?” Gwen’s amused voice cuts through the moment, and I find myself blushing furiously. Tamar laughs merrily and lays me back down onto the bed.

“Well, you know…practicing mouth-to-mouth and all that never hurts…she seems to be coherent and she certainly didn’t mind being kissed. Must be getting better.” The Draka stands up from my bedside and hugs her friend, my Muhmis. Gwen returns the hug, and a kiss. They seem so fierce together, I think, so different from me and Ally. I grin up at them, still feeling the blush.

“Glad to see you’re better, my pretty pony. We were a bit worried there for some time. But the medkit and the doctor both say no complications, besides some exhaustion, so we were lucky. Feel like sitting up? I have some questions I’d like to ask you…” Gwen perches on the side of the bed, and Tamar pulls over a chair, sitting in it cross-legged. The two Draka eye me seriously this time, and I nod, weakly.

“If you’ll help me sit up…” Gwen’s strong arms pluck me from the pillows and I feel Tamarindus arranging the pillows behind me, to form a rest. I sit up, my head feeling a little light, but other than that, and the tiredness, I feel okay. “What do you want to know?”

“Tell us, in detail, about the last hour or so before you left Sydney.”

“Um…we ate at a little café and then I went browsing in a bookstore called Stirling’s Rare Book Emporium. I found a copy of James E. Flecker’s poems in there, for $20, and bought it, and some other books, a first edition of The Grapes of Wrath, and a volume of Emily Dickenson…and a H.P. Lovecraft book I didn’t have, too…he was really nice. We talked for a while, about books, and authors, and types of writing. Then Alice retrieved me…actually pulled me, protesting, out of the store, after promising to let me visit there again sometime. We picked up the twins at a nearby boutique, and went to the air car. Um…we stopped along the way one other time, though.” I struggle to remember.

“Yeah, the traffic got all snarled all of a sudden, and we ended up waiting for it to clear out. We stopped at another little coffee shop, and had some espresso. It wasn’t very tasty, though, I remember that. I didn’t finish mine. The waitress kept asking me about it, if I didn’t want to finish it, but she just ended up bugging the hell out of me, so we left. Then we went to the air car, got clearance, and took off. The twins and Alice fell asleep almost immediately but I felt restless, or hot, or something, and then I didn’t feel very well at all. That’s all I remember, Muhmis, Uhmis.”

“Interesting. Very.” Gwen’s face breaks into a wolf’s grin, and the light in her eyes makes me shiver. “Someone dosed you all, and tried to kill you, Erin, our brooder. This will stop—I’ll make examples of whoever’s involved so that no human will ever want to even think about rebellion…and that damned Samothracian is involved, since the paravirus was genengineered. Typical stealth approach…”

She reaches down and strokes my face tenderly. “You’ve had a rough couple of innings, darlin’, but you’re batting well. It’ll be all right. You’re safe here with us, and that’s where you’ll be until the baby’s born. Or until we capture and exterminate the Samo. But don’t worry, sweetlin’—it will be all right.” Gwen leans over and kisses me firmly on the mouth, and presses me down into the pillows. Her body weight, always shocking, sends trickles of excitement through me, and I gasp. Muhmis laughs softly and tucks me into bed, smoothing the blankets and sheets under my chin.

“Sleep now, and be safe, my honored little saafn. We’ll take care of everything.”


	31. Chapter Thirty One

Chapter 31

The winter sun glimmers through the low clouds, and it feels like snow. I shiver, pulling my jacket tighter around me, and watch Patrick skate around the rink, his cheeks cherry red. I think maybe it’s time to go inside, I wish to myself, but steel myself to a few more minutes, for his sake. You’re nothing but an old fogey, you are, Erin…I snicker, and do a little dance from one foot to the other to keep warm.

Security hovers nearby, eyes flickering over everyone and everything. I feel a subliminal murmur of their observations through my transducer, and wince a bit. Everything used to be so simple, so easy. Now, in order for Patrick to go skating, we have to clear the rink and the surrounding area, just so it’s safe. I’m tired of it, I realize, and an internal snarl builds. I’m tired of being afraid, and afraid for those I love. This has to stop.

Patrick attempts to waltz backwards and ends up on his fanny. He sits for a moment, stunned, and one of the burly security men rushes over to him, picking him up. “Hey, I’m okay, let me down now!” His clear child’s voice carries over the ice. He worms his way free and wobbles toward me, trying to look brave and unconcerned. I bet he has a bruised little behind, I think, and hold my arms out to him. His face brightens and he hurries over to me, outstretched arms matching mine. “Mama!”

“You really okay, or just acting tough, big guy?” I say quietly as I sweep him into my arms. “Whoah, pardner…you’ve either gotten bigger or I’m shrinking…which is it?”

“You’re not shrinking, you silly…I’m getting bigger. I’m okay, really, Mama. Can I stay out for just five more minutes, please?” He batts his big green eyes at me, eyelashes black against his pale skin. A tuft of thick black hair pokes out from under his ski cap, and my heart melts. He smiles charmingly at me, and wriggles to get down. “Five more minutes, okay?”

“Um, no, I think it’s time to go in. It’s almost time for your favorite nature show, too. Tonight’s the show about deep sea fishes, remember? The funky ones, with little fronds and stuff that glow in the dark?”

“Oh, yeah…that looked cool. But can’t I…”

“No, light of my life, the answer, no matter how much you wheedle, bat your eyes, or smile, is still no. You’ve been out here over an hour. If you ain’t frozen, your Mama is…come on, no pouting. Let’s walk back, okay?” I sit him down and help him unlace his skates. For a three year old, he’s surprisingly coordinated and you can even reason with him sometimes, I think. Great kid.

We walk, hand in hand, through the snowy park. No fear of thugs or drugs around the HQ of the Planetary Archon, that’s for sure. Security men stay at a discrete but safe distance, I see out of the corner of my eye, as Patrick balls up a snowball and whacks a tree. “Look, I hit it!”

“Yep, Dead-Eye Pat, yew shorely did. But Ah got a surr-prize fer yew…” I toss a small snowball at him and for the next few minutes we range back and forth, giggling, tossing snow at each other and the occasional security team member. I finally kneel down, arms raised, and surrender to the one-man army of Dead-Eye Pat, and he climbs on my back for a ride back to the roof-top suite.

“Mama?”

“Yes, Dead-Eye?”

“No, no…I ain’t him no more. I’m Patrick now.”

“Oops, sorry. And I believe that should be, ‘I’m not him anymore.’ What were you going to ask me, Pat?”

“Um…why’s the sky blue?”

Oh, no, I sigh to myself, another round of Why Is. He loves this game. “It’s a complicated answer. In fact, to be really accurate, I’d have to look it up using my transducer. How about if I do that tonight, and tell you about it tomorrow, over breakfast? Next question, please?”

“Where do worms sleep?”

“In the ground, in worm houses, on worm beds.”

“Uh-uhn…they don’t have beds!”

“Sure they do. Just ‘cause you haven’t seen one doesn’t mean it can’t exist…”

“Okay.” A quiet moment, as he thinks. We walk through the lobby of the former Waldorf-Astoria, dripping snow like white rain. “Mama?”

“That’s mah name, pardner…”

“Why are we serfs?”

Ow! The question I’ve always been dreading has just popped out of my son’s mouth. I stiffen, and he senses it. I try to form an answer, my mouth suddenly dry. “Well, you seem to have a talent for interesting questions tonight, Patrick.”

“Does that mean you ain’t gonna answer me?”

“Gadzooks, chile, your grammar…been listening to me and to Shawonda too much, haven’t you? Listen, I am going to answer your question. I always do, don’t I?”

He nods, seriously, and slides down from my back as I stoop, and we wait for the elevator. I take his hand in mine, and we watch the floors ding by, one by one. When we reach the executive suite level, a security monitor scans my transducer and then allows the doors to slide open. We walk out into a wide hallway, with a receptionist stationed across from the elevator doors. Barbara’s on duty, and smiles at the two of us. 

“Hi, youse guys! Been out playing, huh!”

“Yeah, and I got Mama on the nose with a snowball, a big one…” Patrick chortles, holding his hands apart to show how huge the snowball was. I brush snow bits out of my hair and laugh.

“He sure did. Pow! Right in the kisser!” I take his hand in mine again, and head him toward a balcony. “Let’s go talk for a minute, Snow Man.”

“Okay! Can we throw snowballs on people from up here? That would be fun!” He peers over the edge of the balcony, to the streets below.

“No, silly, that could hurt someone. Come here and sit for a minute, you won’t grow wings or anything, or a second nose…I want to talk with you, Patrick.” I sit down on a deck chair, cleared of snow by the servants. My son joins me, taking a last calculating look over the balcony railing.

“Patrick, you asked a dang hard question, but it’s a good one. Let me try to explain. Why are we serfs? Because…well, we have certain skills and talents, as a people, as humans, you know? And the Draka have other skills and talents. They’re stronger than we are. So we’re their serfs. It’s not that they’re better than us, or that there’s something wrong with being a human, and one day, maybe in your lifetime, things will change. But for right now, we have to deal with the Draka as Overlords, and we have to try to deal with being serfs. It’s not easy.”

“But Alexandra…”

“What? She’s a little Overlord. In fact, you belong to her, and when you’re both old enough to really understand that, you’ll deal with it. For right now, you’re friends, right?”

“Um…she got mad at me the other day, um, yesterday. I don’t think she’s my friend anymore.” His eyes are downcast, and I catch the gleam of tears in them, too.

“Hey, everyone has fusses…I have fusses with Alice, and she’s my very best friend in the world. That’s why we’re married. I even, every once in a while, respectfully, have a fuss with Muhmis. And we’re learning to be friends. Remember when Jennifer got mad at me when I splashed her, down at Andros? She stayed mad at me for days, ‘cause she had just had her hair done…but we’re still friends.”

“But…she…she said…” He hiccups, and rubs fiercely at his eyes with chubby three year old fists.

“Honey, what’d she say?”

He takes a deep breath and then looks up at me. “She said you didn’t want me anymore, ‘cause I’m a smelly old human, and that’s why Muhmis gave you another baby in your tummy, to re…re… replace me.”

“Oh, for pete’s sake…come on, you can’t believe that for an instant. I’d do anything for you; I’ll never stop loving you, ever, Patrick. You’re my son, my very own flesh and blood, so precious to me. I’d kill for you, die for you, even ride a roller coaster for you…” I squeeze him, hard, and snuggle his head under my chin. “Please, please, don’t think that’s why I’m having Muhmis’ and Uhmis Tamarindus’ baby, darlin’. That’s not true, it’s simply not true. I’m having their baby because I was chosen to, and because it’s an honor, one that makes our place in Gwen’s family very strong.”

“You’re not…you don’t think I’m…” More hiccups, but relieved-sounding ones, this time.

“Well, you can be kinda stinky, especially when you bamboozle Marie Claire or one of her helpers into thinking you’ve had a shower when you haven’t…” I grin down at his tear-streaked face, and he ducks his head. He still hasn’t lived that one down, I chuckle, and run my hands through his thick black hair, his hat having fallen off when we came in. “But you’re my own, part of my heart, sweet…you always, always will be. And your Papa loves you too, from heaven. Remember when we talked about that?”

He nods. I had edited the vidcamera tape down to the last part, erasing the political madness at the beginning, and Patrick and I had watched Peter as he told us both how much he loved us. I think it meant a lot to Patrick; he misses his Papa a lot. I found one of Peter’s shirts in a box under Patrick’s bed the other day. I know why he keeps it—it smells like Peter, it brings back memories. I should have thought of that, too, I muse, rocking my son gently.

“Listen, Alexandra was just mad about something, and she struck out at you in a way she knew would hurt a lot. I’ll have a talk with her about it, and then you two can work past all these hurt feelings. Okay? She’s a wonderful little person, but she has a heck of a temper, doesn’t she?”

“Uh-hunh.” He looks up at me. “Will we always be serfs, Mama? Or can we run away? Why can’t we just be their friends?”

“Man…there you go again. Deep thinking. I’m impressed,” I say, kissing him on the forehead, trying to think. “We can’t run away; there’s no place to run to. As for them treating us like equals, or at least not like slaves…I don’t know. I wish it could be that way, too. Maybe one day it will be. The thing is, Patrick…and this is just between us, something you will never tell anyone, like Alexa or Muhmis…okay, it’s like this: they call us serfs, and legally we’re treated that way by their system. But our minds are free, honey. They always will be. That’s why I’m working so hard on getting humans out in space, and on other planets, and stuff like that—our minds are free, even if our bodies…aren’t. Just remember that, always. They can control a lot of what we do, and even what we feel, but there’s a place inside your mind where they can never get to. Find that, like a secret room, and put your treasures there. That’s what becoming a grown-up is like, now, with the Draka around.”

“A secret room? Cool-o!”

“Cool-o? Is this a new slang term this old fogey’s missed out on?”

“Like, Mama, bing-bong! Is that thing on? Of course…cool-o means it’s really flat. Angular.”

“Hmmm…like, neato, groovy, man, you’re one cool cat, dude…”

In mock-frustration: “Mama!”

Gwen steps out onto the balcony and joins us. “Is Mama being silly, Pat?”

Climbing agilely into her arms and perching on a shoulder, he laughs, nodding. “She’s using all those silly old words like neato and groovy…she’s silly, Muhmis!”

“Sometimes, darlin’, just sometimes…ready for dinner, you two? How about joining me? Alexa’s at a party, Jennifer has a headache, and Alice is frantically digging through paperwork. Tom and Andri are…shall we say, otherwise occupied. Steak?”

“Yum! Count me in!” I stand, smiling up into her face.

“Can I have a hotdog? Please? With chili?” Patrick beams down at her, batting his eyes professionally. 

“Ah, such a charmer he’ll be…quite impressive now, too…a hotdog? Hmmm. Perhaps. Let’s see if there’s something more nutritious that catches your eye, youngling,” she says, an arm around his legs to hold him securely on her shoulder. She stretches out her other hand to me, and I take it, feeling the steel-like grip become gentle, warm. She squeezes my hand and winks at me, and we walk from the balcony, leaving the quiet snow-covered streets below to the winter wind.

**

“Gwen?” I say, past the mouthful of salad. She nods, busy inhaling her 20 ounce Porterhouse. Patrick is happily eating some chicken fingers and a pasta salad, something Gwen convinced him would increase the range of his snow-ball throwing ability.

“Yes, Erin? Here, try some of this—it’s lovely, hump-steak…” She forks some up, and I eat it from her fork, relishing the taste.

“Hmm…yes, that is good. Buffalo?” She nods, her red hair bobbing up and down slightly in the candle light. “I had a couple of things to ask you about, concerning the kiddies.” Patrick looks up, catsup on his chin. I reach over with a napkin and wipe it off, and he squirms.

“If you’re finished, sweet, why don’t you run along and watch your nature show? It comes on in 3.46 minutes from right now…” Gwen laughs as he bolts for the door, dinner, and apparently dessert as well, forgotten. “What did you want to ask me about, my pretty-girl?”

I blush, slightly, feeling the effects of her pheromones. “Um…well, the first was the idea of an allowance. When we were shopping in Selenopolis this last time, or if they go out here anywhere, they seem to have no idea about the value of money. I thought maybe now’s the time to start them on some sort of allowance…but I didn’t know if you folks do that or not…”

“Oh, yes, of course. I hadn’t thought about it, though…you’re quite right. Let’s start them at, perhaps, oh, fifty dollars a week. If they help with the babies, once you and Alice have pupped, then we could increase it some. That will help out Marie Claire and her girls, and once the children start school, they’ll have a better idea about money as a commodity. It’s all rather theoretical to us Draka, but they need to know some about it…good idea, Erin. Let’s start it on Sunday.”

“Oh, great! Wow—fifty a week?”

“Is that too little?”

I choke a bit on my wine, a burgundy that’s tart but not too twangy… “Um, no—I just got about five dollars a week from Mamaw and Papaw, when I stayed with them, and nothing from Luann’s parents, understandably enough, when I stayed there. I mowed yards for spending money and gas money.”

“Mmmhh…no yards to mow here, and I think fifty’s all right. We are talking about the daughter of the Planetary Archon and her personal saafn, child.” Gwen smiles and leans back in her chair, a snifter of brandy in one hand. A foot traces its way up my left calf, the toes mobile, caressing…

“Um…speaking of…there was that second thing…um, Muhmis…” I say, breathlessly, heart pounding as she grins whitely at me, enjoying my arousal.

“Quite good control you’ve got, little one…hmmm…lovely legs, simply lovely… what was the second thing? Quickly, now…”

“Alexandra and Patrick had a spat, and she told him that I was having your baby to replace him, since he’s a ‘smelly old human’. He was quite upset about it when we talked out on the balcony. How should I approach it with her, Muhmis?”

“Hmmm…leave that to me. I’ll talk with her when she’s back from her party. These little tiffs are bound to happen, as she starts to feel dominant. No reason to hurt Patrick like that, though. Thoughtless of her. I’ll deal with it, sweetlin’. She’ll tell Patrick that she’s sorry.” She sighs. “One thing Draka and human children have in common is that they’re born little wild animals and have to be taught to be people. You’re going to have to learn how to discipline one yourself, now.”

She stands, putting the now-empty snifter down, and holds her hands out to me. I take them, trembling slightly, and smile up at her tanned face. “Yes, Muhmis. He’s okay now…we talked it out, and he knows why I’m bearing this child for you—for the reasons that I was chosen by you and Uhmis Tamar, and that it’s an honor to do it…not that I’m going to replace him!”

“Good. You have such a way with them, Erin…one of the things I enjoy so about you. And this is another…”

“Uhn! Muhmis…”

“And another…”

“Ooohh…” I find myself in her arms, her lips on mine, hungry, seeking…finding. “Muhmis… oh, god, Gwen!!” 

Her purring chuckle precedes us into the bedroom, as she nibbles along my throat, her hands busy, too…

**  
“Little missy, you sit right there,” I say sternly, and point to a chair on the other side of the fire. She climbs up into it and perches, legs dangling and hands gravely folded on them. A rush of love overwhelms me at the sight, but I fight down my purr.

Alexa starts to pout, then reconsiders as she looks at my face. “Are you mad, momma?” she says.

“I’m not happy with you, Alexa,” I say. Her eyes go wide and slide aside from mine. “Look at me.”

“You made Patrick very unhappy for no reason,” I say. “And worse than that, you told him a lie.”

This time she does pout. “But he’s just a human.”

I lean closer and shake a finger in her face. “How would you feel if I took him away? If you never, ever saw him or Tantie-Ma Erin again?”

Her defiance crumples. “Oh, please no, Mama! Don’t do that! I like Patrick a lot, an’ I love Erin like I love Tantie-ma Alice.”

“Does he really smell bad?”

“No. He smells pretty nice – it makes me feel good, unless he’s sad. But he never notices how I scent.”

“Well, he can’t, little darlin’. He’s a human, and their noses don’t work like ours. But it hurts his feelings if you tell him he’s smelly when he’s not. And you know Tantie-Ma Erin isn’t having a baby to replace him, don’t you?” 

I hold her eyes, and she nods. “Yes, Mama. You told me about brooders, and how I’ll have some myself someday.” That’s entirely theoretical to her now, of course. In fact, she may well use Alice and Erin’s daughter for that; it would be traditional. 

“Are you afraid your little sister will replace you?” I say.

Slowly. “Sometimes.”

Thought so. Human children get jealous of infants, and drakensis are more territorial still. “Well, she won’t. Nobody will love you any less. She and you will be good friends when she’s old enough.”

Tears well from her eyes, and I wait for a moment. “Now, are you listening to me, Alexandra?” An emphatic nod. 

“Good. Now, you’re a Draka and Patrick is your serf. Someday, that’ll mean a lot to both of you. Right now, you’re learning how to handle your serfs properly, like a grown-up Draka, like an Ingolfsson. And you haven’t learned yet. You can’t fly an air car like me yet, can you?” She shakes her head. 

“Neither can you handle serfs properly yet. You’re learning. One thing you have to learn is that it’s really easy to hurt them – hurt their bodies, or their feelings. And you should never, never do that unless they’re very bad. Was Patrick very bad?”

“Uhhh… no, Mama. I was just sort of… itchy.”

“And that’s what I mean. You never hurt a serf just because you’re feeling bad yourself. Understand?”

“Yeah… I think so, Mama.”

“And there’s something more, too. Do you feel better when Patrick’s sad, or when he’s happy?”

“Uhhhh….” She looks down at her feet. “When he’s happy, I guess. We play and stuff.”

“So why should you make him unhappy? It hurts him; it hurts you. Why?”

Her face screws up. “I don’t know, Mama! I just did!” She starts to sob, and I take her into my lap and kiss her tear-streaked face.

“Sssssa, light of my heart, I still love you. I tell you these things because I love you and want you to be happy.”

“Can I make it all right?” she asks hopefully, looking up at me as tears slide down her cheeks.

“Yes, of course you can, little heart,” I soothe. “You can go to Patrick and say that you’re sorry you called him names and that you like him a lot. And that he doesn’t smell bad.”

I can feel her considering that. “OK,” she says at last. “OK, Mama!”

“And you can do something nice for him.”

“Like what?”

“Well, you could give him a present.” I grin into her curls. “Here,” I say, keying the holo unit in the wall. 

It shows Tamirindus’ new place in Kentucky, the white gravel road leading up to the even whiter pillars of the mansion house, trees, gardens, rolling hills of bright green beyond with white-board fences. Tamirindus is standing there, looking at me… and beside her is a centaur colt; her arm is resting across his withers, just behind the human body. He looks up at her and smiles, stamping one foot and swishing his tail.

“Oh, Mama!”

“We’ll be getting a place not far from there,” I say. “We’ll have horses, and this little centaur, too – you and Patrick can play with him when we’re there. But,” I go on, lifting Alexa up under her arms so that our faces are level, “only as long as you treat him and Patrick properly. You’re in charge, my little one, but be gentle about it. And never, never lose your temper with them, or I’ll be really angry and I’ll take them away. Understand?”

Grave, she nods. “I promise, Mama.”

“See that you remember it,” I say. “An Ingolfsson’s promise lasts like the hills themselves. A promise to a serf is even more important, because they can’t do anything about it if you don’t care. So you must. Now scoot!”

I set her down, and she scampers off; determined to do the right thing right away. 

“Come on in,” I say, and Alice and Erin walk in, curling up in the loveseat facing the fire; they’ve been monitoring through their transducers.

They’re looking uncommonly good; the cold brings out the roses in their fair complexions, and pregnancy makes their skins even more translucent. How startled they were when I showed them what IR vision looks like to me, I think – I did that through the transducer, showing them how I see the patterns of heat and blood beneath their skins. Both are just beginning to show, a thickening at the waist that’s almost imperceptible under the loose robes they wear. Much like the last time, except that the scents are reversed, Erin’s stronger and sweeter with the distinctive brooder flavor. Alice will never quite lose hers, though; any Draka could smell it, there are permanent changes in the metabolism. I’ve never mentioned it, but they’d be safe even among the wildest youngsters, with that distinctive tag to their scent. 

“Well,” I say. “Do you think that will handle it?”

“I think so, Muhmis,” Alice says. “She is a handful at times. Talk about the Terrible Threes!”

I nod. “Well, she’s drakensis. We’re… combative, aggressive.”

“Pushy!” Alice says, and Erin covers her mouth with a hand.

“Pushy,” I agree. “You’ll both be authority figures for her until she reaches puberty, though – don’t be afraid to give her a set-down if she deserves it, or a swift swat on the backside, for that matter. A spoiled-brat Draka…” I shudder. “They’re rare, but not completely unknown. And almost all dead, before they’re thirty. A drakensis has to have self-control to match the power of her instincts.”

I look at Erin: “Yours is going to be the same way. Remember, don’t let Alexa or her ‘buffalo’ you! For all our sakes.” 

Alice is thoughtful. “You know, it occurs to me – Alexa’s very strong and fast for someone under four, a lot more than Patrick, but not… not proportionately as much as you are, Muhmis.”

I laugh, relaxed and happy. “The Ancestors weren’t idiots,” I said. “Can you imagine a tantrum with my muscles behind it? It’s keyed to the hormonal changes at puberty; so’s the pheromonal dominance system, mostly.”

“Bad enough imagining teenage super-beings,” Alice laughs in return. “All-powerful horniness.”

“Well, let’s put it this way,” I chuckle. “Patrick’s going to have a very good time around then; so’s your daughter.” I smile reminiscently. “I certainly did. I can remember how quick it was; one month sex was something boring that adults were obsessed with when they could be doing something really fun like swimming or running or painting; next month I was reconsidering; month after that, clothes were flying in every direction, out of windows and convenient haystacks; I’d go down to saddle a horse and end up riding the groom into the ground instead…” 

My smile grows nostalgic. “And then I met Winifred Makers at school. Bells rang, birds sang, we spent endless time staring into each other’s eyes and sighing… not to mention fornicating like ferrets. My mother used to laugh at us and we’d scowl, convinced it was a romance that would go down in history, instead of being the archetypical schoolgirl pattern…”

The humans are looking at me rather oddly. “Oh, well, different customs. We don’t have that whole kraal of cattle to worry about with these for another decade, thank the gods.”

“That’s wonderful, about the centaur,” Erin says. “Patrick’s entranced with them. I think sometimes he wanted to be them; he’s still glued to the holo every time something from the Prime Line comes through, hoping for shots of them.”

“I noticed,” I say. “They should have a wonderful time. Centaurs aren’t usually what you’d call mental giants – not stupid, just not very brilliant when it comes to abstract thought -- but they’re good-natured and lots of fun outdoors.”

“And it’ll certainly distract Patrick from any lingering resentment,” Erin says.

“Alexa’s really very fond of him; she just got… snippy. This is one of the reasons I wanted them raised together; she has to learn how to handle humans properly, without hurting them unnecessarily. It’ll get easier as they get older if we all handle this stage properly. I’m going to arrange for them to have more children to play with, too, I think – other Household humans, and there are going to be more Draka children here soon, born and brought in from the Prime Line to be with their parents. It’ll do Alexa good to have a few bigger Draka children who can put her in her place now and then. When she’s a little older the occasional black eye or bruise from her peers will do wonders in keeping her from developing delusions of divinity.”

“So, we’re getting a place in the country?” Alice asks. “Hmmm. Can we look at the plans? Erin and I could have a suite… I’ve always wanted a nice marble whirlpool… and a room for our servus…”

Erin gives her a playful nudge; she thinks Alice has luxurious tastes. Quite true, but why not? There are times when Erin’s modesty is half-irritating, half-amusing; she’s among the dozen most important humans on this planet, after all. That still puts her below me, and less directly the other few thousand of the Race here, but well ahead of six billion other sentient beings.

“Yes,” I say. “No reason you two shouldn’t design your own suite. As long as it’s convenient to my rooms, you lovely pair.” I smile at them, enjoying Alice’s preen and Erin’s blush.

I look out the windows; more snow falling into darkness. A few lights go by slowly outside; we’ve started local manufacture of air cars for human use. Not fully modernized, sort of a hybrid technology, but momentum-transfer drives aren’t all that hard to do once you know the principles. We had the Technics people and their AI’s run up designs local plants could manage. You don’t have to build aircraft out of memet; steel and aluminum will do for now.

Snow, I sigh. Work will keep me pinned here for another month; humans like having a central geographical place where they can approach you, not being used to transducers. Snow can be fun in the country – skiing never caught on as a sport in the Prime Line’s history, but I’ve discovered I love it. In a packed warren like this snow is irritating, and worse as slush. I go on:

“I’ve always had horses, and Andros is lovely but not exactly good pasture. Jennifer’s handling the acquisition – paying for it, even. Half a dozen other Draka are setting up Households there too. It’ll be good for the children; and easier to secure. General Maurice – you met him at the social last week, the Frenchman in World Gendarmerie Intelligence – is working under de Lange’s direction to set up a real clear zone there. I know the security measures here are irksome, and they’re going to stay that way until we catch the damned Samothracian.”

I sigh. “Alexis is leaning on them back in the Prime Line, trying to threaten them into a hands-off agreement. Difficult, though.”

“You’ve got diplomatic relations?” Alice says, surprised.

“Not exactly, but we do communicate – faster, now, with mole holes. The problem is that they’ve got an ingrained cultural imperative to destroy everything they consider evil.”

“Draka?” Erin asks.

“Us first and foremost, but any other transgene species – servus, centaurs, ghouloons, you name it, all ‘abominations’. Plus nonhuman extraterrestrials. And any human who works with us. Or any human who violates their taboos, and they’ve got a mint of them. Sexual ones, for instance; you and Alice would be on their… what’s that expression? Shit-list? They managed to put aside their dislike of genegeneering enough to ensure that they’re all, ah, straight, in your terminology.”

Alice shivers. “Sound like Nazis.”

“Oh, not really,” I say, making a mental effort to be objective. “In terms of your history… rather like a fundamentalist who’s also a member of the John Birch Society, only not so moderate or reasonable and with less of a sense of humor. So you can see why we have trouble negotiating with them. This one here hasn’t accomplished a damned thing except get a couple of hundred humans killed, and annoy and inconvenience us. Ah, well, Alexis may be able to terrorize them into sense. Not that we wouldn’t love to wipe them all out, or better still conquer them. It’s an old, old grudge. But it’s just not practical, more’s the pity. That being so, why expend effort just to make each other’s life miserable? It’s a big universe, and there are all the other universes paratemporally too… but the thought of us existing and flourishing is a burr under their tails.”

A servant comes in with a tray of drinks – juices for the brooders, cognac for me, and some miniature quiches and nibblements. I smile and thank her; so do Erin and Alice. Alice, I note with some amusement, has developed a toned-down copy of my own manner with the help… well, the Ancestors did use the upper part of the human range of personality types as the model for us.

I nibble, sip and listen to the fire crackle and the two humans talk about their day; it’s comforting, relaxing.

After a while they’re quiet, leaning their heads together and holding hands. I sigh. 

“Something wrong, Muhmis?” Erin asks, looking up.

“No, quite the contrary,” I say. “I was just thinking that for the last little while, I’ve stopped thinking of myself as an exile here – started thinking of Earth/2 as home, the place where I live and where my children will grow.”

I stand and stretch; the humans precede me into the bedroom, arms around each other’s waists. Alice checks for a moment and snorts.

“Just thinking,” she says, at my enquiring hand on her bottom, looking at the big four-poster. “In six or seven months, even a bed this size will be bloody crowded if you have the two of us with you.”

**  
I disentangle myself from Alice; when she sleeps like this, she’s a soft, warm octopus of a woman. Carefully, I sit up and look over at the other side of the bed. The sheets are rumpled, and the blanket’s down at the foot of the bed, but Gwen’s not there. I get up, hearing Alice’s sleepy mumble of protest at losing her lover as a pillow, and cover her with the blanket. It’s dang chilly here in New York, with the snow on the ground and more to come, according to the weather mavens, I think.

Walking into the living area, the huge room I can’t quite bring myself to call a living room, I relish the warmth from the terry cloth robe and my slippers. The fireplace in the bedroom was lit, but dying down, and I didn’t want to make a lot of noise putting more wood on. Maybe the one in the library room will be lit, too, I think to myself, and head that way. Slowly opening the door, I peer around it.

“Come in, my little mouse…” Gwen looks up from her tall-backed leather chair, her face underlit by the flickering flames in the fireplace. A book’s on her lap, and she closes it, marking her place. “Come here…”

I blush and walk in, closing the door behind me. I go over to Gwen and kneel by her side, looking up into her beautiful face, like a Greek goddess come to impossible life. I’m still tired from the two times she’s had me—the once after dinner, then with Alice, into the night—but my heart still thrills a little, looking at her. She smiles gently and gestures for me to get up and come closer. When I’m standing, she grasps me irresistibly under the arms and tugs me onto her lap. 

Her robe, a black silk one that I remember Alice buying her, is open at the front, and I snuggle against the warmth of her skin. She drops the book onto a table next to the chair and caresses me, purring loudly. “So…what’s my little one doing up? I thought you were…tired out, earlier. Refreshed?”

“Umm…well, no…I’m still kinda wore out, Muhmis…sorry…I just woke up, though, and wanted to sit by a fire. Didn’t want to make noise in the bedroom, since Alice is sleeping so well. You know,” I think out loud, “she hasn’t had any nightmares, like the ones she had, before…that storm seems to have passed on by and died out. She seems so happy now…”

“Yes, and you’re part of the reason…she’s a lucky wench, certainly. Very pretty, too—you two make a beautiful pair. I’m glad the nightmares died down, too. It wrenched at my heart to see her suffer and know that there wasn’t anything I could do, directly, to help.”

“You really do care about us, don’t you? It’s not just a line.”

“Of course I care about you—you’re my saafn, my responsibilities. And especially you and Alice, since you’re my brooders. That makes you even more important to me.” Gwen kisses me, softly, lingering and kissing me again. “I do care about you. You’re very special to me, Erin. Even though you’ve had the occasional backslide, you’ve been loyal, resourceful, creative…not to mention fun in bed!”

“I was thinking about that last night…it’s become easier to give to you. I didn’t know exactly why, but then…I realized I trust you. You’ve never lied to me, I don’t think. And you’re sincere. A little strange sometimes, and occasionally terrifying, but I trust you, Gwen.” I look up into her aquiline, angular face, and see it crease into a broad smile, her eyes glittering down at me.

“I trust you, my saafn. Otherwise, you wouldn’t carry my child below your heart… thank you, Erin. Thanks—I appreciate what trust means to you. And no, I’ve never lied to you. I may not tell you everything, but I tell you what you need to know. Sometimes more than that. You are a curious one,” she chuckles, and her hands explore inside my robe. “Curious, and such a hot little bed wench…”

“Eeeak! Hey…that’s attached, y’know…” I laugh, squirming on her lap. Her laugh joins mine, and then her lips are touching me, tongue flicking fire along my mouth, my throat, down…my laughter turns to soft groans, and her purr deepens into a steady rumbling chuckle. The fire in the stone-mantled fireplace lights the night for our play, and I gasp as she picks me up, still kissing me, tonguing. Gwen puts me down on the fluffy sheep pelts in front of the fireplace, and comes down on top of me, crushing the breath out of me in one smooth rush of movement. Her body moves against mine; the friction almost drives me out of my head with a body rush of pleasure.

I grasp her head, mahogany curls and long braid coming undone, and pull her to me, kissing her savagely. My Muhmis laughs, softly, and then returns the kiss, with interest…the night flows into morning, and we move into each other with a passion I’ve never really felt before. Only at Tahoe, by the doors…I think, while I have the capacity to think coherently. Only then, and this is more…intense… Her eyes looking down at me, luminous leaf-green pools, so deep… a slight snarl of enjoyment on her full lips, and then her body moves, demanding…

**   
“Boy, what an appetite! Eating for two, or just famished?” Jennifer clucks, as I spoon more maple syrup onto my stack of waffles. “Slow down, girlfriend—it won’t all disappear…”

“Mrfmm…mmh-hmm,” I nod, eating rapidly. I’m starved, absolutely, I think, and snarf down another mouthful of waffle, with some bacon on top. The coffee by my side is steaming, and its aroma’s almost intoxicating. I’ve never enjoyed breakfast this much, I wonder, it’s probably due to the baby I’m carrying. Past the doldrums of morning sickness, and then a long night with Gwen—no wonder my appetite is huge this morning.

Jennifer laughs, deftly putting cream cheese on a bagel. “I’ll just stay out of your way, missy, while you’re gorging…thank god for metaboline, that’s what I say…mmhh,” as she sinks her teeth into the bread. She closes her eyes for a moment, and as a joke, I snatch the last bagel from her plate, putting it on mine.

“Hey! Hey! Where—hey, now, don’t get between me and my bagels…you goyim! Give it back! This instant, wench!” We’re both laughing, and I’m holding the bagel above her grasping fingers, just out of reach, when Tamarindus and Gwen come in. Gwen chucks me under the chin, snitches the bagel from my finger, and tosses it to Jenny, who catches it with an exclamation of triumph.

The two Draka go on to the head of the table and sit, with servants hurrying to bring them coffee and their breakfast foods…huge plates of food, everything from scrambled eggs, Johnny cake, bacon, hash browns, grits…to two 16 ounce steaks, rare. My eyes widen as I watch them eat, and Gwen catches my look. She winks at me, and Tamarindus turns to look at me, grinning. I blush, and look down at my nearly empty plate, and then over at Jennifer.

She’s gazing at the two drakensis, her eyes seemingly far away, an expression of awe on her face. Awe, and something else, although I can’t put a name to it. A hunger, perhaps. She’s an interesting chick, I think silently to myself, and finish my coffee. Immediately, a servant’s there to refill my cup, but I wave him off, thanking him. He bobs his head, blushing a little, and backs away. I feel pleasantly full, satisfied for the moment, and sigh.

“Have you been taking your supplements, Erin?” Gwen looks up from cutting a piece of steak and catches my eyes with hers. I nod, making a face, and she smiles. “Good, the baby needs the extra minerals and proteins, and you’d become…depleted, quite rapidly, of other essentials. Make sure you take them, twice a day, hmm?”

“Alice won’t let me forget. I think since she had to go through it, she’s making damn sure I don’t miss a dose. Can’t we make them taste better, Muhmis? It’s the worst-tasting concoction I’ve ever had… ick, ptuiy!” I make a face, remembering the acrid, oily taste of the stuff sliding down my throat this morning. It’s all I can do to take it and not barf it back up, I think, but somehow the idea of that sludge coming back up is enough deterrent…

“Yes, I’ll ask someone in the medical center to work up something less horrid. Haven’t had time, recently, and didn’t have the capability when Alice was brooding. I’ll have someone work on it today, sweetlin’. All right?”

“Oh, yeah, that’s great!” I grin at her, hopeful. They sure can’t make it taste much worse, that’s for sure.

“I’m sort of glad I’m missing all this fun,” comments Jennifer, over the rim of her coffee cup, pretty brown eyes dancing humorously. “It sounds so… what was that technical term you used, Erin? ‘Ick, ptuiy’?”

“You just wait…my pretty…” I croon in a creaky falsetto. “Your turn will come… heh heh heh!”

Tamarindus throws her head back and laughs heartily, her dulcet tones ringing through the room. Gwen’s smiling openly now, enjoying the byplay. Tamar catches her breath, and reaches over to squeeze my Muhmis’ hand. I see the tendons stand out in their arms, and watch their faces light with friendship, a kind of love, as they hold hands. “You’re right, Gwen…these are sweet girls. Funny, too…like nothing I’ve ever known before. Always coming up with something. I’ll miss your wenches, and your pretty bucks, Gwen, when I’m back on the Prime Line for a few months…”

“Oh, you’ve collected your share…I’m sure you’ll find some way of enjoying them.” Gwen gives Tamarindus another hand squeeze and stands, dropping her robe as she does so. “I’m for a shower, girls. Anyone want to join me?” She walks down the length of the table and pauses at Jennifer’s place. 

Her hands stroke through Jenny’s thick brown hair, long and curly, and at her gentle urging, Jennifer joins Gwen as they walk toward the shower room. I swallow, feeling a bit relieved, and then catch Tamarindus’ long, lingering glance. I blush, and look down at my plate. Tamar rises, and walks over to me, purring slightly.

“Hmm…shy. So charming. Come play pony for me, pretty-girl. One last time before I leave…” Her hands guiding, her scent envelopes me and leaves me trembling. I sink onto my knees before her as she leans back against the ironwood table, palms flat on the wood, legs spread, waiting…


	32. Chapter Thirty Two

Chapter 32

**  
I look outside, expecting to see snow whirling past the picture windows in the Waldorf-Astoria-cum-HQ. I’m glad it’s spring, now, as opposed to the bitterly cold winter we just went through, I think to myself. The meeting’s almost over, thank all the gods, and we’re all snugly inside, free from the drenching spring rains outside. The meeting room is spacious, well-appointed with wood and leather, and the center table is covered with schematics, notes, and empty Chinese take-out boxes and cartons, left over from lunch.

“Well, that wraps things up, folks, on the global telecom project. Thanks for all the work above and beyond the call of duty. I mean that; your vacation chits and a teensy bonus await you…check your accounts!” There’s a brief cheer as the team accesses their account information and discovers that the teensy bonus is actually quite a substantial one. Gwen and the council were very pleased with the amount of work I got out of these technicians and scientists, and wanted to reward them well. My reward…

As I clear off my desk, stashing my notes in the “to be filed” pile, I think about my cabin. It’s on Muhmis’ estate, but off a-ways, enough for privacy. Trumpet creeper overgrowing the roof, a fireplace, a porch to put rocking chairs on… all the conveniences of the new technology, too, without it being obtrusive. The walls are coated with an internal memet covering, so the tiny log cabin is theoretically able to stand the blast of just about anything…not that I want to test that out, I smile to myself. I just want some time to sit on the porch, rocking, and listening to the burbling creek down the hill from the cabin, and the birds…

Gwen gave it to me last night; I stretch, feeling warm and tingly all over. The baby’s showing quite a bit now; this pregnancy is smoother than my previous, and I feel better…that’s a byproduct of brooding a drakensis child, my mind whispers coolly. You’re supposed to feel this way. Well, part of my feeling so good has to do with the great work this team did, and our results, and the fact that Gwen boffed my brains out last night, I snap back. At least I’m learning not to subvocalize all this. That could lead to some difficulties, I think.

“Barbara? I’m all done for the day—do I have anything else right now? Or is it quittin’ time?” I lean out the office door and smile at my secretary. She hurriedly gets off the phone; dammit, I’ll have to talk to her about that, again, I think in exasperation, but try to keep my smile on. She chats on the phone for hours, to her friends, and it’s becoming a problem. Not a security one, I thank the gods silently, but a personnel type problem. I wait, one eyebrow raised, as she shuffles through her mounds of paperwork, finally emerging with some post-it notes.

“Um, uh, no, nothing I know of…um, you’ve got the meeting about the Space Force planning committee tomorrow at ten, and lunch with Alice at one…um, a checkup with Shawonda at, let’s see, three, at the clinic…” She giggles, nervously, her eyes darting up at me.

Like I’d have a prenatal checkup on the street, darlin’, I think. I thank her briefly and go back into my office. Some time to think, and prepare for the meeting tomorrow would be wisely spent, I muse, as I sit back down in the leather recliner behind my desk. I wave my hands in front of the computers and tell them to go to sleep, so I won’t be disturbed, distracted, or tempted to play a game or two… closing my eyes, my hands resting on my bulging tummy, I sit back and think.

Did I answer Patrick’s question the right way? It’s hard enough to figure out all this serf stuff as an adult, let alone a three year old. I just don’t want him to feel hopeless, or lost. And I do believe, truly, that one day we’ll be free again. That’s what keeps me going. I’ve gotten pretty immune to the daily barrage of letters—some glowing with sycophantic praise, and hopes for a plush job posting, others glowing with righteous hatred…I’ve been consigned to the deepest fires of hell quite a few times by now; it seems like they could come up with something different every once in a while, I grin. The shredded American flag the VFW sent me was disturbing, but Alice saved the day, commenting caustically that those old farts should pick up their flags before mowing their lawns. Ah, my Ally…

Alexandra and Patrick are back at being buddies, Alexandra having apologized sincerely to my son for calling him a smelly old human. Gwen was right—I think Alexa was the one worried that the baby I’m carrying would be a replacement. Not for Patrick, which is what she told him, but for her, which is what she feared. Gwen straightened her out on that, that’s for sure. My back twinges a bit, and I shift in the seat, reaching back to rub it. I’ll have to get Yannan to work on it tonight. Rosta doesn’t massage hard enough, and she’s always trying to do more than massage, too… a nice, relaxing massage, and a soak in the marble whirlpool would be divine. My feet are swollen, a bit, and I prop them on the edge of my desk, feeling deliciously naughty for doing so.

Are you just trying to change the subject? The tiny, cold voice in my mind whispers, and I wince. No, dammit, I’m not…I told Pat that we all have a place inside our heads that they can’t get to, and I really meant that. They may be riding herd on us now, but one day…my imagination takes humans to the stars, in memet-hulled starships, free to explore, to learn, to colonize… That will happen. Maybe not in my lifetime, even though I have two, courtesy of Planetary Archon Ingolfsson, but maybe within Patrick’s lifespan. It’s not some crazy dream. 

They need us, need us to remain human. The creativity thing is their Achilles’ heel, and they know it. The Samothracians are just as ruthless as the Draka, but they have the edge on creativity, which scares the Archons. And it should. It scares me. The Samos…what a kettle of fish they are. Puritans with permanent bad moods. Death to all transgenes, to all humans who work with Draka, and death to all homo drakensis. I cross my arms protectively in front of me, and whisper, Not on my watch, you don’t, you sons-of-bitches…

The feeling of protective rage that surges within me leaves me breathless. I struggle to relax, telling myself the danger’s not actually present. A few deep breaths, and I’m calm again. The Samos don’t care about humans per se; to them, we’re just slightly soft obstacles to shoot, blow up, or climb over to get to their real targets—the Draka. The Draka, the Overlords, at least feel a bit of responsibility toward us as saafn. I wish they’d catch that damn infiltrator, and send him or her back to Samothrace. In a tennis ball can. 

I chuckle out loud, surprising myself. I am developing a gruesome sense of humor; it’s always been a sort of black humor, but Peter always leavened it out with his queeny witticisms. Now that he’s gone… my humor runs deeper and darker. It scares me, sometimes. I miss him so much; it’s a physical twinge or ache. It never goes away, but I’ve learned to live with it and not let it rule my being. Wouldn’t be fair to Patrick or Alice, or the others.

Having two servus living with us in the wing of Gwen’s mansion down in the Kentucky bluegrass country is interesting, I muse. I still pick up after myself, but Alice doesn’t bother to anymore. That bugged me for a while, but now I’ve just accepted that part of her that’s enjoying the power. She’s sincere about that, that’s for sure. The two servus, given by Tamarindus Rohm to Gwen as wedding presents for us, are wonderful folks—twins. Yannan has let his hair grow even longer, so he can sit, and sometimes does, without meaning to, on his long blond mane. 

His sister, Rosta, has just decided to cut her hair short, and it’s a pleasingly soft burr right now. I told her to wear a hat or something if she went outside, but she didn’t, and now she’s experiencing her first scalp-level sunburn. There’s only so much protection genengineered in and no more—common sense should cover the rest. As long as she has short, short hair now, I bet she’ll wear a hat in the summertime! I smile, remembering her shocked surprise that the top of her head was all red. Poor kid.

I’m not much into giving orders to them; more like suggestions. Or questioning them as to what they want, something they’re not used to and often not comfortable with. I try to limit myself on those types of inquiries, at least until they get used to all this. Or used to me. Alice can be quite…lordly; she usually isn’t with our twins, but with some of the other Household staff, she is. I heard from the cook, a large Black woman named Mavis, that Alice’s nickname is “Ice Queen”. Mavis said I didn’t have a nickname yet, but I bet I do. Probably “Pushover” or something. “Goober.”I like spending time down in the hustle and bustle of the kitchen at the Manor; the good smells and companionable chatter make it feel homey.

I also need to think about Barbara. Ever since she got promoted into the former ‘Inner Circle’, just before the Project was reality, she’s been steadily…unraveling. At first it wasn’t anything I could pinpoint, but recently… Her hair is always disheveled; today she’s wearing the same dress she wore yesterday, and from the looks of it, she slept in it last night. The disorganization is getting worse and worse, too. The phone calls, almost all time now, have become annoying. I’m not sure what’s going on, either. I’m not a psychologist! Her staring off into nothing does tend to make me wonder, though. Time to ask Shawonda about Barbara, I decide.

About this Space Force thing…I need to have my notes organized for the meeting tomorrow, and ask one of the computers to wake up. It says “Hello” in a fruity baritone, with a Welsh accent, and I smile. Patrick’s been in here playing again, I see…he loves to change the voices around on the computers. I’ll have to fuss a little at him, though, since these are work computers and have some important things on them. “Access notes on Space Force committee, and show them to me in chronological order, earliest to latest dates, please.” I always say please; otherwise Glitch will send a GPF your way. The hologram of Elvis that hangs over the server next to my desk is a protective charm, too…I laugh inwardly at all my silly superstitions, some of which were Peter’s, and focus on reading over the notes one more time.

Two hours later, my stomach’s rumbling. Gads, it’s almost 7:30, I have to get home to tuck the kids in, I think, and tell the computer to go back to sleep. I’m as organized as I can be for the meeting tomorrow, and I’m starving, to boot. Barbara is long gone, but her desk looks like ferrets have been partying in it. I will have to talk to that girl, seriously, I think, as I pull my light jacket on and tell the lights to dim. The World Constable outside the door nods his head at me, and waves me through the checkpoint, and I waddle toward the lobby of the Waldorf-Astoria. 

The spring evening’s cool and I can smell horse, grass, and just a whiff of car exhaust. They’ve just about done away with the cars, substituting mass transit, floaters, and horses with carriages. I stop to look at one magnificent specimen, his hooves each larger than my head. He stands bored, swishing his tail a bit, looking around with big old brown eyes. His owner sees that I’m looking at him and comes over to offer a ride. I thank him politely and walk on, down the block to the HQ building that used to be just the Waldorf-Astoria.

“Where have you been, Erin? Patrick’s waiting for you. I tried to read him a chapter of The Hobbit, but he said I wasn’t doing it right. There’s a right way to read and a wrong way?” Jennifer greets me at the door, smiling.

“Um, I think he means you’re not doing all the different voices. I do that. He’s a picky ole bugger, ain’t he? I’ll run up and tuck him in, and then do you want to eat dinner? Or have you already?”

“No, haven’t yet—let’s do. Meet you in the smaller dining room, on Gwen’s level? Thirty minutes?”

I grin, nodding. “Sounds fine to me, Jenny!”

**  
“So, being fussy with who reads you your story, are ya?” I sink down on the edge of Patrick’s bed, and he bounces up, bright-eyed and bushy-tailed. I’m inwardly sort of pleased that he wanted me, not anyone else, to read his story to him, but I try not to let that show.

“But Mama, she wasn’t doing it right…and I wanna know what happens to Bilbo and the trolls…”

“Okay, but a lesson first—try not to hurt someone’s feelings when they’re trying to do something nice for you, like Jennifer was. She’s not used to kids, and not used to reading out loud, but she was willing to do that for you, right?” He nods, suddenly serious.

“Did I hurt her feelings, Mama?”

“I think a little. Give her a big hug tomorrow or something…no bugs from your bug collection, though,” I hastily add, as I see the thought cross his boy’s mind, “she’s afraid of bugs. Maybe a flower, or a drawing, or something like that. Make her feel a little special, and tell her you appreciated, you liked, that she was going to read to you. She’ll need time to learn how to do it right, and you can help her. Okay?”

“Yeah. Okay. Mama, are you gonna read to me?” He leans against me, pleading with voice and eyes. “Please?”

“Okay. Where’s the book?” He reaches under his pillow and produces it with a flourish. “Now lie back, head on pillow, sailor—let’s see what happens to Bilbo…”

There’s a soft noise as the door opens a crack, and I stop in mid-sentence. Sticking around the door is a tuft of curly red hair, and I grin. “Come on in, Spy Girl. You can listen, too, if you promise to go to sleep when I finish the chapter. That’s the rule. Come on…”

Abashedly, Alexandra comes in and then pounces on the bed next to Patrick. They squeak and giggle until I stop again, warning them…quiet reigns, and I watch their eyes grow wide as they see Bilbo creeping through the hedges, trying to watch the trolls without being caught and made into dinner… I finish the chapter, tired from doing all the voices of the dwarves, the trolls, Bilbo, and Gandalf, and find that Patrick has fallen fast asleep and Alexandra’s nodding. I carefully put the book down, marking my place with the red ribbon Mamaw gave me one day long ago, and cradle Alexa in my arms. Her weight is always surprising, and I find myself hoping I can get to her bedroom in one run.

“Here, darlin’, give her to me,” Gwen whispers. I startle, but not too much. I’ll never get used to how quietly these Draka can walk…probably be the death of me when I’m 198, sneaking up on me like that, I say to myself crossly. I hand Gwen her daughter and she kisses me on the forehead. Gliding noiselessly across the wooden floor, she deposits the sleeping child into her bed, covering her with a light quilt. I watch the tenderness, the love, cross Gwen’s face as she tucks her daughter in. The affection is so vivid, so intense. The girl whispers something to her mother, and Gwen shush’es her, giving her a gentle kiss on the lips. Alexandra smiles and rolls onto her tummy, purring.

“The children are abed, how about dinner?” My Muhmis closes the door softly behind her, and smiles at me.

“Jennifer and I were planning on eating in the smaller dining room on this level, Muhmis. Join us?” I grin back, linking my arm through hers.

“Certainly. Thanks,” she replies, a bit sardonically. “You and Jenny have become good friends; I’m glad. There was some tension between the two of you early on, when I first acquired her… glad you’ve moved past it. She’s a wonderful girl, and very bright.”

“Yes, I know. Sometimes she’s so bright I feel like a lump of coal next to her,” I laugh, and Gwen hugs me to her.

“No, no, little ‘un, you’re no lump of coal. You’re my own, my special saafn, my brooder…” Her mouth finds mine as her hand strokes my tummy, and we both laugh as the baby kicks a few times. “Let’s go eat dinner, sweet…I promise not to ‘sneak up on you’ when you’re 198, too, silly wench…”

**  
The smaller dining room is pleasant; even better in the spring, now that we’ve gotten New York’s stinks toned down and we can have the windows open. I enjoy the twilight; I’m still looking forward to getting down to Gwendolyn Hall in Kentucky – Erin suggested the name – and looking over my horses. I’m eager to start the breeding program. Erin was a bit surprised that we didn’t just genegeneer the qualities we wanted, but that would be like using a machine to paint pictures. It would work, but it wouldn’t be much fun. There are a thousand and one details about getting the plantation running too, and I don’t want to delegate them. 

I tuck into the salmagundi, glazed ham, gravy, hominy, biscuits and sweet-potato pie – one of the cooks is on a regional binge. Excellent, and not unlike traditional Draka cooking; some of the same roots, after all. The ham… I pause and sort through flavors in the glaze. Brown sugar, mustard, cloves, molasses, honey, and… yes, the liquor from brandied crabapples.

Erin and Jennifer are chattering and laughing, doing their corn pone-vs-New-Yawk mock-battle; I think they both play up their origins sometimes, sort of a make-believe rivalry. Odd that some antagonisms that stayed green in the Prime Line’s history have faded away here. By the time I was a young adult the whole planet was a screwed-tight knot of fear-driven hatred ready to explode… and it did.

“You’re looking serious, Muhmis,” Jenny says.

“Just thinking about history, and the alternate-worlds thing,” I say. “Tamar has been briefing me on the latest explorations. It looks like the Prime Line is virtually alone – pretty well the only line where the Domination was established that wasn’t wiped clean of sentient life sometime late in the twentieth century by the more probable versions of the Final War… survival was a low-probability accident. Of course, with an infinite number of universes, everything that could happen will somewhere/when.”

I describe the desolation on some of the lines we’ve accessed – and the recordings, the despairing words of the last survivors on dying worlds. Both the humans shudder. Well they might. Madness; the Ancestors and the Alliance going for each other with fists of thermonuclear fire and not a thought for the planet they fought over…

“Are they getting any more control on the mole holes?” Erin asks curiously. 

One project she supervised was getting a couple of hundred bright young human scientists – young enough to be mentally flexible – to receive a Domination education via transducer. Let them assimilate the information and look at it from a fresh perspective; possibly they might come up with avenues of approach we’ve overlooked. The Domination’s intellectual culture always did tend to the monolithic, and that’s hurt us before – the near-disaster with the Samothracians getting ahead of us on mole holes is a perfect example. Erin’s pet scientists are a long-term proposition, though. I go on:

“Some, but there seem to be theoretical limits. We’ll be able to set very broad limits as to where the other end of a paratemporal mole hole ends up. It has to be at the same point in universal time or earlier, like there, and they can get the point-of-divergence, the lateral movement in time measured down to within a couple of centuries -- but within those it’s virtually random. And we can’t get two very ‘near’ each other, so it looks like we’ll never be able to contact closely adjacent lines -- nothing within centuries of this one, for instance. And we can’t put in more than a couple of paratemporal mole holes per line, or the consequences are… drastic. We’ll have to relay through multiple worlds, and of course that puts the time and energy costs up.”

“What an empire,” Jennifer says. “Throw out a line at random for a new province!” She frowns in thought. “Going to have to be pretty decentralized, with these transit costs.”

I nod; Jenny has a sharp analytical mind. Principally focused on economics, but politics is a close cousin. 

“That suits us, anyway. We’re not going to launch any more mole holes from the Prime Line – or from here, come to that. Too dangerous – we might meet something we couldn’t handle, coming the other way. We’re going to use dead lines as bases, and with elaborate fail safes, and take it slow. No hurry. It’s revolutionizing things back on the Prime Line, too, the same-universe mole holes connecting star systems – transit times of weeks across light-years, and that’s counting getting out to beyond Pluto in normal space! That’s one of the things Alexis is trying to sort out with the Samos, divvying up star systems, now that we’ve got what amounts to FTL travel. Hmmm. Tamar has a horrible feeling that the mole holes there still aren’t really in exactly the same universe… just in ones very close to the Prime Line, so close they’re indistinguishable. I had Tolya try to explain it to me, and my head still hurts. Theoretical physics is not my, ah, thing. The birth rate has soared, though!”

I pause with the fork halfway to my mouth as a thought strikes me, then chew slowly. “Once we’ve got the Solar System licked into shape, I’ll have to see about building mole hole facilities here,” I say. “Interstellar ones, that is, out beyond the Oort. Gods know this planet is overcrowded, and even with the advantage of knowing how it’ll take time to terraform Mars and Venus… we’ll colonize other star systems directly first, where we know there are habitable planets – Alpha Centauri has one. Samothrace!” I chuckle. “Ah, now there’s an old Draka dream in reach, in a manner of speaking.”

“It’s going to be an exciting two centuries you’ve given us,” Jennifer says.

I nod, pouring myself another glass of wine and filling hers. Erin is having decaf coffee… and Alice is sound asleep. She’s been complaining a little that this pregnancy is a lot less pleasant than brooding Alexa, but I know she wants this child of hers and Erin’s very much. And their daughter will make an excellent birth-gift for mine, as Patrick did for Alexa.

“Very interesting. Who knows – perhaps we’ll turn this planet over to Alexa and go colonizing between stars,” I say. “I’ve always wanted to do that someday.” I look at Erin for a moment with a feeling of relaxed pleasure; it’s not just her scent as she broods for me – I simply like her company. “Or Alexa and Patrick could head out to the galaxy, if they get too impatient with us fogies.”

“That’s right, you’ve had probes to all the nearby stars!” Erin says, her eyes bright. 

She has an enthusiasm for space travel that reminds me of my youth, before it became commonplace – something of the same feeling that pushed me into planetography. I couldn’t peel her away from the holo, when the first expeditions to the Moon and Mars in this system landed. Odd, I think. Odd how easy that was, even using only a few basic pieces of Prime Line technology. Well, they’re getting a four hundred year jump. It’s also providing work for a substantial number of energetic, independent-minded humans who might otherwise have caused trouble. Erin actually jumped up and down with delight when I told her the first outpost on Earth/2’s Luna would be called Moonbase Alpha.

“Yes. Of course, with mole holes, you just whip out the other end to the system you want,” I say. “Theoretically it’s not faster than light, but given the time-travel effect it might as well be. Expensive, though – you still need as much energy as it would take to drive the ship’s mass to 99.9 of C and decelerate it. Probably be fifty to a hundred years before we can do that here.”

She shakes her head. “It’s still hard to remember that I’ll be here in another hundred years.”

I ostentatiously knock on wood, and she laughs as dessert comes in; pecan pie with whipped cream. She could be here then – the two lives I’ve given her come to another two hundred and forty years, of which she’s lived less than thirty. It’s still a dangerous universe.

“Barring accidents,” I say. 

“From your mouth to God’s ear,” Jenny says, rolling her eyes skyward.

We take our coffee – Jenny and I add brandy – down the long arched corridor. The children are sleeping; Erin looks in on Alice and comes out nodding.

“Dead to the world,” she says. “I’m glad; she’s had a little trouble sleeping this last week… you get very conscious of that, when you’re married!” She yawns.

“I’ll have to get her an inductor field,” I say. “That doesn’t have the side-effects of sedatives, just kicks you over into natural sleep. They’re mostly for children on the Prime Line, but there’s no reason Alice should miss her rest. Nor you, Erin – see you in the morning. Sleep well, saafn mine.”

She kisses us both before closing the door; winking at me. I know she finds my protectiveness of her a little overwhelming at times, now that she’s bearing my child… but I think she also enjoys it.

“We’re not sleeping, I assume?” Jenny says archly.

“Not for a while,” I grin, touching her and enjoying her sharp intake of breath, running a hand beneath her skirt, caressing. “But I doubt you’ll have any problem dropping off when it’s time.”

**  
I shut the door behind me, softly, and lean against it. Just kissing Gwen has an effect on me, I think, ruefully, and then chuckle as the baby kicks fitfully inside me. Don’t worry, you’ll be out soon enough, out into a big, cold, exciting, scary world, little ‘un… I take my shoes off—a sigh of contentment slipping past my lips—ahhh—and pad into the apartment. I can hear Alice’s steady breathing from the bedroom, but part of me feels restless. I walk into the living area instead, and sit down at my console. It’s not too late, I decide, and call Shawonda. Her face appears in mid-air, as the holounit kicks in. “Hey, Shawonda—I hope I didn’t wake you or anything…”

“Nope. Studying. What’s up, Big Mama?” Her brown eyes sparkle and I wince at the nickname she’s given me.

“Hey, what’ll you call me when I’m not Big Mama any more, huh?”

“Oh, I’ll think of something,” she laughs.

“I’m sure you will. Listen, I have something serious to ask you about. It’s about Barbara. She’s not acting…normal. I’m pretty concerned about her, actually.”

“What do you mean? Is this a security issue or a medical one?” Shawonda’s face, as ebony hued as it is, has gone a little pale.

“No, no…nothing involving security. I think she’s going crackers. She’s becoming more and more disorganized, she’s giggling for no reason, her eyes go all over the place…she’s talking to her friends or someone on the phone all the time now…her personal hygiene has gone to hell. I’m no shrink, but when you notice all that, you get the idea that something’s wrong. I thought I’d ask you to check up on her and let me know what you think.” I pause, considering. “We don’t have to make this a big official thing yet; maybe just your talking to her will bring her out of the funk she’s apparently in. She acts too scared of me for me to do that, Shawonda.”

“Scared of you?”

“Yeah…she giggles a lot, rolls her eyes, refuses to look me straight in the face…fidgets. And it’s not like I threaten her with a cat-o’nine-tails if she doesn’t check the mail for me or something. You know me…”

“Yeah, I sure do. You saved my ass twice, and I won’t forget it. Never. You talked me through the crazies when Gwen told me about herself, and then you really saved me after the Phillips incident. Man, I wish I had known he was so crazy—I would have taken care of him myself, dammit. Going after you like he did…I still feel shitty about that, Erin.” Her level gaze looks into my eyes, and I nod. She goes on, after a moment, clearing her throat: “I’ll stop by tomorrow and talk with the girl, see what’s up. We’ll go from there, okay?”

“That sounds fine to me! I’m worried about her, is all—she used to be so bubbly, and sweet. Now, man, she’s so…weird. Let me know what you think, old girl. Thanks for chatting with me!”

“Hey, that’s right—it’s late. You need to be in bed. Now go get there! That’s an order!”

“Aye, aye, ma’am!” I flip her a salute, we laugh, and I tell the holounit to close down, using my transducer. Stretching, I find the baby’s apparently decided to give me a brief window of opportunity to get to sleep before she starts doing the rumba again. I slip quietly between the sheets, and Alice curls against me, warm in the chill night air. Sleep comes quickly…


	33. Chapter Thirty Three

Chapter 33

**  
Spring in the Bluegrass is beautiful; I bank the air car as we circle Gwendolyn Hall. The gently rolling hills are a soft organic backdrop to the white geometry of the board fences; dogwoods and magnolia star the woodlots. The grass is blue now, for a few weeks in May, with its own tiny flowers. I take the craft down to treetop height and slow to barely faster than a horse could run. Dawn is just past.

“Hold onto hats and loose items, everyone,” I say, checking that the children have their restraints on. To the aircraft: “Retract, waist height.”

The air is overwhelmingly fresh, just cool enough to bring a flush to the cheeks at this speed; hair flies in the wind, and a few pieces of loose gear go whirling away despite my warning. Below me horses are standing, still sleepy with a slight morning mist on the pastures; they throw up their heads at the air car’s quiet passing, and a few trot, living poetry across the rippling grass. Alexa and Patrick are squealing and pointing, the others smiling.

The manor house faces south, aligned east-west with a major block in the center; the core of it was local, although I’ve added wings in the same pale limestone block style, making the shape a large E and giving a couple of courtyards in the rear. The gardens are taking shape – luckily, the previous owners already had rather nice ones, so the heart of them near the house are already lovely, if not quite in the Domination style. I’m going to keep them that way, I think – at least for the next generation or two. This is another world, after all. Off to one side behind a screen of trees is more new building, the estate workers’ quarters. I’ve claimed about twenty thousand acres, and there have been no lack of volunteers. Erin was a little surprised at how many… The cottages are stone too, with tile roofs. Back of the house are stables and barns; that section will grow as the Landholding is made more self-sufficient. Southward the hills rise to rougher country, mostly forested. That’s where Erin has her cabin; she was touchingly happy to get it. She’s adapted well to the quasi-communal lifestyle of a Household, but sometimes she needs to get away.

We land; the house steward and a few of his staff are waiting. They kneel, willing but still a little awkward with it, and I nod indulgently and give them the signal to rise as the air car crunches down on the limestone gravel of the front approach. The house has a pillared portico three stories tall; the wings to either side are lower. I catch the humans’ scents, and over that the sweet smell of cut grass, wood smoke, cooking, more distantly of livestock. There’s a bustle as House servants come forward to get the luggage; Adri hugs Tom, others of my staff greet their friends. Yannan and Rosta head off with their seras’ baggage, ignoring protests as they scoop up everything but purses – Erin’s still a little uneasy with the respect a brooder rates. Alexa and Patrick are jittering, and break into a chorus of shrill greetings as Chiron canters up.

“All right,” I say. “Yes, you can go play with him – after breakfast. Oh, all right, you can have breakfast with him. Patrick, do not try to eat straw – he doesn’t either, he’s not a horse, you know.”

The young centaur laughs. “No,” he says, his voice deep – he’s about six, but they have bigger chests than the more hominid species, and mature a little faster. “Hoi, my friend Patrick – come with me, and I will give you bread and honey and eggs to eat, not straw. Can you race me there, Missy Alexa?”

Patrick whoops and clings to the centaur’s shoulders as he scrambles to his back; Chiron gives me a wink. He’s a levelheaded creature, and fond of the youngster – nobody objects to being hero-worshipped, that I’ve found. Alexa trots alongside, holding on one of Patrick’s legs, keeping up to the centaur’s walk. I trigger a subroutine in my transducer to keep an eye on them, and alert me at need. The local surveillance net is quite complete.

Everyone else walks up the broad steps. We sit at table on the broad portico, the saafn below the ceremonial salt shaker, and staff bustle out to feed us. I greet some by name, asking after families; it’s homelike, and yet has a sense of newness at the same time. My grandparents – my human grandparents – did the same in Europe after the Eurasian War, settling new plantations. The process has been far less bloody here, of course. The estate workers are partly locals, but many others from around the world; it will take time for this to grow into a community, but I will see it happen.

“How long will we be here?” Tom asks.

“Until the fall,” I say, sliding ham, eggs and grits onto my plate, and buttering a muffin. “Thanks to Erin. Her team has the global net working ahead of schedule.”

Erin blushes and glances down at her plate; Alice grins and runs a hand across her back. “Credit where credit’s due,” she says, and then whispers in her ear. Charming, I think – of course, nobody else here can hear it, except the intended recipient. Their affection for each other is as pleasant as a fire on a cold night.

“So we can holoconference most things right from here,” I say. “The Household will probably spend a fair amount of time on Andros over the winter, though.” It’s only a twenty-minute flight by modern air car. “And, of course, those who wish can spend their free time as they please.”

Jennifer and Tom let relief flicker over their faces; they’re both city-bred. Country quiet will do Alice and Erin good, though, and I want the children born here. I won’t be planetary Archon forever, but this estate is my personal property and one of my children will inherit it. And it’s more relaxing, I think. Over a dozen Draka have established themselves in this area, and Security has it well and truly in hand. Erin will appreciate that, and she just doesn’t like New York all that much as a place to live. I can sympathize.

“We’ll be having a party here day after tomorrow,” I say. “The local Landholders – now that there are some – coming over to mark the official seizure of Gwendolyn Hall. That won’t be dull.”

**  
The House steward I’ve selected here is a male, in his forties, with skin the color of old oiled wood. He and Alice and I are going over the arrangements in the breakfast room with Mavis; Erin is sitting in. Back on the Prime Line a social function of the Archon’s would just happen, but that sort of staff tradition isn’t born overnight, and one has to make allowances.

“Eighteen Draka guests in all?” Henry says.

“Eighteen adults, counting youngsters over fourteen,” I say; it never hurts to recapitulate, when you’re dealing with humans. “Seven children, but two of those are still babes in arms – the others are three, five, six, eight and nine. Plus, of course, about two saafn each. The actual banquet will be on the south terrace, of course – upper table for Draka, separate table for children and nannies, and a lower one for personal saafn. The rest of the servants and the estate saafn will have their own dinner and dance down by the village green, apart from those serving in the manor, of course.”

It’s a pleasure to have this sort of minor domestic organization on my hands, actually. Running the planet is duty and usually a pleasure of sorts, but this is more… cozy. The tall doors are open, overlooking the west courtyard of the manor and letting in the bright morning light. Alexa and Patrick are down there, playing some game that involves hobbits and trolls and bad ghouloons – Patrick dreamed it up, in incredible detail, and Alexa loves it. They’re also ‘helping’ the gardeners… I smile and catch Erin and Alice looking aside with identical expressions; Mavis chuckles.

We go over the menu, and I nod approval – I’ve never yet had Mavis disappoint. A buffet lunch, then strolling, viewing and sports for the afternoon; dinner and entertainment to follow. Partly the usual mill-and-swill, and I’ve also arranged for a troupe of Balinese dancers to be flown in, and some local singers will perform. Speaking of which…

“Let’s see the temporary serving staff,” I say. 

More than the usual indoor servants will be necessary for something on this scale, of course. Not that it compares to Archon’s Day back on the Prime Line, but there are only now getting to be enough Draka on Earth/2 for regular social occasions. Henry has culled an extra score from the village, younger workers and older adolescents.

About twenty troop in and pass by the table in pairs, bobbing in a respectful half-bow. I’d thought of putting them in Prime Line livery tunics, but on second thoughts decided that local garb – jeans and t-shirts in my colors – would be more impressive. They’re all nice-looking young specimens, pleasantly varied, but I’ve had transducers implanted in all the staff and Talk downloaded. I scent eagerness and apprehension in most, a little real fear in a few.

“Mmm, they have been briefed on all their duties?” I murmur aside to Henry. It wouldn’t do to have some hysterical buck or wench spoil the friendly tenor of the party when they’re taken aside to be mounted – one must offer hospitality to one’s guests. Another thing that’s different here… Ah, the hardships of the pioneer life, I think.

“Certainly, Muhmis,” he nods.

**  
I rub my back, wincing a bit. I wish you could just press a button and be done with it, I think to myself, and Alice comes up behind me. Her arm goes around my shoulder, her head nestling against my neck, and I sigh with love.

“Can’t even really hug you, cobber, with both of us like blimps…need to have those beepy horns that the forklifts have, just to get people out of our way in the halls…” Alice laughs. “Bloody hells!”

“Yeah, and I’d really, really like to be able to see my own feet again…as well as do a few other things…” I commiserate. She blushes a bit, and gives me a quick peck on the cheek.

“Oh, I know what you mean, love, that I do…”

“Not much longer now, is it?” Tom joins us, looking fondly at the two of us blimps.

“No—I should be any moment now. Alice will probably be a couple of days after me, or maybe a week…”

“Hush your mouth! I hope, just for that, that I’m before you…you vixen!” She prods me gently in the ribs, and I squeak, ticklish.

“Boy, remind me never to get in the path of a woman who’s ready to have her baby!” Tom laughs, and holds up his hands, a surrender-gesture. Alice and I flank him, and he puts an arm around each of us, and we waddle down the wide corridor, still chuckling.

The hallway branches off in several directions, and I guide the three of us over to a sunny spot where some couches and chairs are collected. Levering myself down onto a couch, I see that Alice has gotten Tom to help her sit down. I grin to myself…she likes the attention. That’s not a bad thing, though. I sigh, crossing my arms over the balloon that my tummy looks like, and look out over the mansion’s grounds. Beautiful view from here…trees in their bright spring foliage, the grass waving in the soft breeze, birds, some men walking horses around. 

The window’s open, and the smells that come through make me want to jump up, run outside, and run around, climb a tree, fly a kite…go wading in a creek. Newly mown grass, the sweet scent of honeysuckle, roses…a whiff of horse byproduct, of course…the warm and dusty smell of hay as a line of workers load the nearby barn. The hay’s stacked, five or six bales deep, on huge tractor-trailer truck beds, and the men and women doing the offloading are shiny with sweat, even this early in the day. They’ll be more than ready for lunch, I think. I pull myself back to Tom and Alice with a last look out the window…

“…that’s what I told him, but of course, Gwen’s going to tell him the same thing. Maybe then it’ll sink in,” Alice is saying, a hint of anger in her voice.

“I know, I know… we’ll have to do something about the local ‘officials’, soon… they’re a pain in the butt, especially him,” says Tom.

“What?” I interject, curious. I’ve missed out on something.

“Oh, the local sheriff…he’s being an ass about Gwen’s landholding plans, and wouldn’t listen to me. Gwen gonna have to shake him up a little; then he’ll see the light. That’s all—I was just telling Tom about the meeting I had with him. He didn’t want to listen to me, at all,” Alice says, frowning.

“Well, you are a woman, and a pregnant one at that; he’s probably never had to negotiate with one before, or had to deal with someone like Gwen…I know he’s never had to do that!” We all laugh at that.

“There’s ways and ways, though, Erin…some of the locals are able to adapt, but some of them aren’t…” Tom muses, stroking him chin.

“Yeah, but doing purges is a great way to start an underground movement… that’s the last thing I’d want to see, bushwhackers everywhere. Let’s try to be patient with them. After all, we have the time, don’t we?” I soothingly reply, looking into his eyes as I talk.

“Oh, you’re using those hazel eyes on me, girl…mmh-mmmh! What’s that saying of yours, right forest, wrong tree?” Tom chuckles, and reaching over, ruffles my hair. “But you’re right…no need for anything drastic, yet. Security’s on top of it, that’s for sure. Gwen’s going to…ah, speak, with the sheriff, too.”

“Security better be! Gods, with this party coming up tomorrow!” Alice says, archly.

My eyes cloud over, as I remember the last few times security has supposedly been ‘on top of things’. Oh, Peter…if only…

“Who’s for lunch?” Tom asks, as he sees my face change. 

“Oh, that sounds good—come on, Erin, let’s go eat!” Alice says, cheerily.

“Mmhh…I’ll join y’all in a minute,” I say softly, looking down at my hands. “Promise!”

“Okay…we’ll eat outside, by the rose garden…it’ll be a picnic,” Alice smiles, and as Tom helps her up, she reaches out for my hands. Grasping them, she squeezes. “It’ll be fun, won’t it, love?”

“Yeah! Just give me a minute or two…okay?” They nod and walk off, toward the kitchens. I’m left alone with my thoughts, my regrets, my grief… I struggle to shake it off, though; the normally sort of high feeling I’ve had throughout the pregnancy tries to reassert itself, and for a few moments, I’m exquisitely uncomfortable, conflicting emotions jarring me.

**  
I grip my temper with both hands. You’d think after seeing the human leaders of this world kneeling at my feet, this one – he’s a local sheriff – would grasp the fact that I’m outside and above his structure. Have to make allowances, I think; humans have trouble assimilating and really believing it. He’s a repulsive specimen, too, which doesn’t help. Probably very fat before metaboline, and still sort of… greasy-looking, with sagging jowls even though he’s only in his fourth decade. His assistant is in the same uniform but looks very different; a young female, and she’s been tugging at his elbow throughout this unfortunate conversation and being shrugged off for her pains.

“Enough,” I say, and step forward. The steward’s office isn’t big enough for him to back up more than a pace.

I grasp the sheriff by his leather belt and straight-lift him into the air, then lower him until he’s at eye-level. He gasps and his eyes go round. Tom winces a little and looks aside.

“Listen to me, human. I am the ruler of this world. I could rip you apart right now. For nothing, for a whim, much less for disobedience. Your laws don’t apply to me; can you grasp this fact?” My voice shifts upward into a Command roar, and I let my aggression flower. “Do you?”

“Y-y-y…. Yes-s.” The human’s voice is small; I can scent that he’s very nearly pissed himself. The other humans in the room, Tom and Henry and the younger sheriff, are blanching themselves even though they were on the fringes of it.

“Yes, what?”

“Yes, Uhmis Archon.”

“Better,” I say mildly, and set him down again and return to my seat behind Henry’s desk. The human crumples to his knees, and stays there – wisely.

“Now, let me review the facts for you. This land is mine, personally, my plantation. You don’t come into that loop. It, and any other land taken personally by Draka, is also outside your jurisdiction, and that of the United States. It’s under Domination law. Your institutions exist because we let them exist… for now. Ours take absolute precedence at all times. You will cooperate fully with my World Constabulary and Security detachments. If I hear any reports of foot-dragging, inefficiency, or less than perfect attitude, you will suffer. Understood?”

“Yes, Uhmis Archon,” he wheezes.

“Furthermore, if you show disrespect to Alice again – who is, you fool, executive assistant to the ruler of the world, as well as my brooder, and who could end your life with a single sentence – you will also suffer. I’m a reasonable being but I don’t tolerate insolence. You will address her as Sera Wayne and you will act towards her with deference and close attention. Understood?”

“Yes, Uhmis Archon.”

“Better. Now go. And obey.”

Tom and Henry wipe their faces after the sheriff has left. I hear his muttered cursing and the voice of his subordinate, the clunk of a door, and the spurt of gravel under the electrocar’s wheels – if it were one of the old IC monstrosities, there would be a roar.

Took care of that cracker, Henry subvocalizes. He has an excellent poker fact, though. I suspect he didn’t much like the local law-enforcement before we came. Some folks hereabouts gettin’ a dose of they own medicine an’ not likin’ it much. 

“I think we should see better cooperation there,” Tom said. He looks down at a notepad. “Merarch de Lange and General Maurice have updated their reports. The entire County is now seeded with surveillance devices, there’s 24-hour surveillance from the platform – set to stealth, so nobody will notice it – and an instant-reaction force of World Constabulary with energy weapons and a troop of ghouloons on call.”

“Good,” I nod. Surveillance is actually easier out here in the countryside, without masses of ferroconcrete and metal all around. I set my palms on the desk, take a deep breath and school my mind to release my anger. Too petty to be worth it, I think.

“I also think that the small-town types here were afraid that their business would dry up, what with the Landholdings being established and replacing the local farmers,” he says. A shrug. “That’ll die down as it doesn’t happen. God knows the workers here have spending money.”

I nod. “Thank you, Tom,” I say. That wouldn’t have occurred to me. Of course my estate-saafn get allowances… pocket money. That’s been the custom since shortly after the Final War. It wouldn’t have occurred to me to wonder how that would impact the local economy, though.

The corridors of the manor still smell a little of mortar and cut stone in this new wing; I step out into the gardens and stroll down to the House stables, where my personal riding stock will be kept. I’ll take Shaitan out for a turn around the nearer fields; the Arab has real promise.

The stables scent of clean brick and timber, and only a little of horse – just half a dozen so far, although there are many more off in the breeding stables and paddocks. The smell of new-mown bluegrass hay is overwhelming and extremely pleasant, relaxing. I hear voices murmuring from a loose-box…

“… won’t be bad. Don’t worry, you may be scared, but it’ll be a lot of fun too –”

The voice is Shawonda’s, and the scent. The other… Ah, yes, Aysha. One of the estate saafn; Afghan, there have been a lot of refugees there, since the revolt of that…. Yes, the Pashtu word does mean ‘religious student’. Odd people. The Ancestors had a great deal of trouble with them; I remember Rahksan, Grandmother’s Afghan wench. I picked up a dozen or so from the refugee camps; there were plenty of volunteers. The Taliban made themselves extremely unpopular, particularly with the females.

Aysha looks a little like her – younger, of course, since I remember Rahksan middle-aged and elderly. This one’s in her early twenties, hourglass shaped, pale olive skin and black eyes and long black hair. She’s on House service detail tomorrow, I remember. Shawonda’s probably calming her down. She has the sort of personality that people confide in.

I unhook the gate to the loosebox; both the humans jump a little and then make their bows – informal-style for Shawonda, the full kneel from the Afghan. It’s covered with clean straw inside, but smells vacant; it’ll be additional turn-out, when the stables are full.

“Do you wish a horse saddled, Muhmis?” Aysha says.

I look her over; plumped out a little on better feeding, sleeker, and looking different in jeans and t-shirt rather than the enveloping dress she’d had when I found her. 

“Not right now, pretty pony,” I say, smiling at her. “I’ll mount you first, Aysha.”

Her heart starts to beat faster, eyes going wide. Shawonda looks at me, brow arched, and I nod; she takes a few blankets down from the edge of the box and spreads them on the straw before she undresses. Good, I think; grass or new-mown loose hay is fine, but straw is too prickly for sensitive human skin. The young Afghan is a little hesitant, shyly uncertain. I come closer, taking in her scent as she reacts to me – a little more slowly than the other’s well-conditioned response -- and gently undress her, urging her down on the horse-blankets. She looks up with astonishment as I strip and toss my clothes aside, then kneel over her. They often do, the first time they see me unclothed; then she shudders, as the pheromones take full hold.

I kiss Shawonda and then the Afghan. Pleasant contrast, I think. Shawonda skilled, Aysha charmingly bashful, her skin rippled with goose bumps and quivering under my fingers. My nostrils flare and I growl softly.

“D…” Aysha closes her eyes for a moment, then opens them with a hesitant smile. “Do I please you, Muhmis?”

“So far so good,” I laugh, and tickle her. She gives a startled giggle. “Relax. There’s a first time for everything.” My head turns to Shawonda for a moment: “Let’s demonstrate what you were talking about,” I say to the black woman. 

Aysha cries out softly and arches her back as I take her breasts in my hands. The straw rustles beneath us, and a horse snorts and stamps.

“Take it slow, please, Muhmis?” Shawonda asks, lying down on her side beside the other human.

“Of course,” I murmur, purring as Shawonda guides the younger wench’s hands. Aysha cries out again, louder, as she feels my mouth on her, trailing down her neck, lips and nipping teeth… “Country pleasures… ah.”

**  
After looking out the windows for a few minutes, I sigh and lever myself slowly to my feet, swaying a bit. Balance is out the window at this point, and I chuckle to myself. Girl, you shore ain’t ready for the Olympics! Walking down the hall toward the kitchen, I hear shrill laughter and then pattering feet; turning, I am just in time to be hugged by two whirling dervishes—otherwise known as Alexandra and Patrick. “Whoah, there! Don’t swing on me like I’m a pasture gate, there, missy—whoah!”

“Are you havin’ fun, Tantie-ma Erin? Have you met Chiron? He can run really fast, too!” Alexa is simply bubbling over with enthusiasm, her leaf-green eyes bright with excitement.

Patrick joins in, “Yeah, Mama, he can eat just like us, and everything…and he said we can ride on his back, if we’re really careful, and you and Tantie-ma Alice, and Muhmis say it’s okay! It’s okay, isn’t it? Huh, Mama? We’ll be careful, promise!”

“He said he’d take us to the creek, and we could have a picnic, and then play in the water, and everything!” Alexa chortles, dancing from foot to foot.

“Whoah, hey, guys, wait a sec! Give me chance to…” I wince. “Um, catch my breath!”

Round green eyes stare up at me, foreknowledge in them, and some fear. “Hey, Tantie-ma, are you okay? Why are you hurting?”

Patrick stops his Irish jig of joy in midstep, and runs over next to me, hugging. “Mama?”

“Hey, hey, it’s fine…um. Let’s see…how about if we do this? It’ll be a fun game. I’m going to walk very slowly, like this, over to the chairs by the windows. I bet I can get there before you can run down to the kitchen and get Tom and Tantie-ma Alice. What do you think?” I try to grin.

The two children dash off, down the hall, calling for Alice and Tom. I sink into one of the chairs, and groan softly. The pain’s not bad, it’s more a sensation of immense pressure building…I think, and close my eyes. The kids aren’t going to get Alice and Tom fast enough, I realize, and trigger my transducer. Muhmis? Gwen? I, uh, I need some assistance here…sorry…um…

I’ll be right there—you’re in the main hall, about half-way to the dining room, aren’t you? Stay there. The birthing room is all ready, sweet. Stay calm. Her voice whispers in my head, soothingly, and I ride another wave of pressure, my muscles bunching and aching. 

Okay. I’ll do that. I block out the involuntary huff! The contractions are coming surprisingly fast, and sweat breaks out on my forehead, my upper lip. I hear voices coming from the kitchen, and running feet, coming closer. Opening my eyes, I see worried kitchen staff following Tom; Alice is making her way more slowly, but determinedly, behind the others. The children are in the lead, and Alexa skids to a stop in front of me.

“You beat us, that’s for sure. I bet you ran to the chair when we couldn’t see you…what’s that?” She points at the floor. “Ick!”

“No, it’s not what you think…it’s the neonatal fluid, the water—remember? We watched that… uhn… movie about how babies come, Alexandra? Remember? It’s okay. The baby’s fine, and I will be, too. This just means… ah, it means the baby’s going to be here soon…” I close my eyes again, willing the contractions to slow down. It doesn’t work.

“Oh…does it hurt? It smells like…you’re hurting, Tantie-ma! I don’t want you to hurt! Make it stop, Tom! Oh, don’t let her hurt!” Her eyes fill with tears, and she tugs at Tom’s arm, almost pulling him off balance as he kneels in front of me, face full of concern.

“You’re always going to be this fast, I gather?” He tries to joke, and then begins to pick me up.

“Apparently, dahling!” I manage, between huffs.

“Wait, put her down, Tom,” calls Gwen, hurtling down the hallway. Two or three kitchen staff are bowled over by her, and sit on the floor, shaking their heads, rubbing fannies and elbows. “See to them… Erin, sweet one, I’m here…” She scoops me up in one smooth motion, cradling me effortlessly, and we move rapidly, smoothly, to the birthing room. “Alice, slow down—take your time. I don’t need both of you pupping at once…you’ll have time…” Gwen calls over her shoulder. “Take care of the children—explain to them what’s happening, again. They’re frightened.”

“They’re not the only ones, Muhmis,” I gasp, as the next contraction squeezes the breath out of me.

“No need, little ‘un, no need to be afraid. It’ll all be fine, believe me. Almost there. By the gods, you are a quick one, aren’t you? Next time, I’ll keep you in bed for the last week, rather than chase you down…” Gwen laughs, kissing my forehead lightly.

I notice for the first time that she’s naked as a jay bird. “Um, did I interrupt something, Gwen, or are you just in the habit of streaking?”

“Streaking?!”

“Um…ah—I mean, running around in public naked, that’s streaking. Used to be popular in the seventies…uhm… just wondering, is all…”

“No, I’m used to being nude whenever I feel like it. And yes, your call did… interrupt something. That’s fine. I can return to what I was doing later…I have all the time in the world for that. This comes first, sweet saafn mine. My brooder.”

“Uhnnn…will Uhmis Tamarindus be here?” I look up into the tanned face of my owner, and return her smile.

“Yes, if she can get here in time. I’ve already called her. The feast’s starting tomorrow; guess it’s better to do this now than in the middle of all the festivities… breathe, now, Erin…slow and steady, breathe through the contractions. It makes it better, really—breathe, now…”

We come into the birthing room, Shawonda and her staff already waiting, and Gwen puts me gently down on the birthing couch. My clothes shred like tissue under her fingers. I wish that she’d let me take off the top, instead of shredding it, but too late…I lie back, sweat trickling down my face, my chest, as the next contraction hits. Gentle hands place my feet in the stirrups, and Muhmis adjusts the position of my hips, sliding me into a more upright position. I liked that top…

“Let’s see where we’re at, now, Erin…I’ll be gentle, just lie still…” She kneels, probing gently, and then stands with a surprised expression on her face for a moment. “Shawonda, get a towel ready…the baby’s almost crowned…damn, you’re fast, sweet—fastest brooder I ever had…it’s all right…”

One of the white-uniformed assistants puts a medcomp on my arm, and I instantly feel less pain. The pressure feeling hasn’t lessened, though, and each wave is becoming stronger and stronger. I hear Shawonda and Gwen talking, as if from a great distance, and then hear Tamarindus’ voice. She leans over me, eyes full of concern and care, whispering:

“My saafn, it’s all right. Gwen and I will make sure it all goes well. You’ll be fine, Erin…”

A sudden tidal wave of a contraction spills over me, and I arch my back, yelling. “Ahhh…” Hands strong as steel clamp down on me, and Gwen’s voice cuts through the pain, the pressure. “She’s crowning. Erin, push—push, now! Here come her shoulders… that’s it…push, saafn, push one more time…” The pain threatens to overwhelm me, but there’s an odd surge of pleasure involved. It startles me, enough to cut through the pain fog, like Gwen’s voice has done, and I wonder at it.

I hear the sound of a baby crying, and cheers…the sound goes straight to my heart, like Patrick’s first sounds had, and I open my eyes, searching for the infant. A rush of pleasure surges through me, easily as strong as the pain and pressure waves had been, and I gasp. “Gwen…may I?”

“Surely, surely, my pretty saafn. She’s lovely, isn’t she…you should be proud. I am.” Gwen’s voice is soft with love for the baby, and her eyes are glittering with unshed tears. Tamarindus leans over and kisses me, on the lips, as Gwen lays the infant in my arms. Gwen’s mouth joins ours, and I shiver under their combined touch. The baby feels so good, so warm, so solid a little life; she waves pudgy fists in the air and yells for dinner… I smile through my tears, at the two women above me, and at the little one below me, in my arms. Interesting times, indeed, I think to myself, cuddling the hungry baby to my bosom for the first time.

**  
I smile at Erin as the baby nurses, watching the small mouth sucking strongly. We clean the brooder and shift her to the bed, cranking up the headboard; Tamarindus and I grip each other’s hands as we look down. The air is heavy with the scent of the birth fluids and the distinctive, sweet-strong smell of newborn drakensis. I’ve rarely felt as happy; not even when Alexandra was born. Then I was tense, the Arrival at its crucial point. This time I can give myself to joy.

“Sudden, wasn’t it?” Tamar says aside to me; her nostrils flare slightly, and she glances from me to Shawonda, to Aysha – the wench is standing back, clothes rumpled and straw in her hair.

“Yes,” I laugh; laugh in sheer delight. The baby doesn’t look quite like Alexa did – something of Tamar in her bone structure, and the brighter flame of her hair. The eyes are blue; they’ll probably stay that way, with a slight tinge of my green in the darker rims.

“Ariadne,” I whisper, stroking her cheek as she nurses.

“Ariadne,” Tamar says, repeating the gesture.

“Ariadne.” Erin repeats the name.

Ariadne. She’ll grow here, learn to walk and run and ride these hills, listen to me tell her of the Land-taking, lie against my shoulder on summer nights while I name the stars for her. So the blood goes on, down the centuries.

Shawonda runs a scanner rod over brooder and child, direct-linking to monitor the output. I hear her subvocalize: Dammit, Jim, I’m a doctor, not an actor -- and repeat it to Erin through her transducer. She chuckles a little.

“Muhmis, everyone’s doing fine,” she says aloud. “No tearing at all to speak of – no need for this superglue stuff we had on standby. Bleeding’s stopped already, everything right on program.”

The black wench has been studying hard for the past few years, and she’s about up to full medtech standard now, a natural talent. “Erin should be mobile by tomorrow, as long as she takes it easy. Even faster than last time!”

Alice strokes her partner’s brow. “Hey, cobber, it must have been me slapping you on the back! You pop ‘em out like watermelon seeds.”

Tom brings the children in. They’re solemn and wide-eyed, holding hands. Alexa leads Patrick over, putting a comforting arm around his shoulders.

“Hi, Tanti-ma,” she says. “Are you feeling OK? I could hear you yell.” Her small nostrils flare. “You’re not hurting any more, are you? You smell all right.”

Erin smiles at her and shifts the infant. “I’m fine, missy,” she says. “Here, take a look at your little sister Ariadne.” 

Alexa looks. “Hey, her hands are so… so tiny.” Dubiously: “But she’s sort of wrinkled and red.”

“That’s because she had to squeeze out of Tantie-ma Erin,” I say, lifting her up and cradling her. “You did too, after you came out of Tantie-ma Alice.”

“You certainly did, darling,” Alice says, laying her head against the child she brooded.

Alexa reaches an arm over to hug her. “Did I hurt, Tantie-ma?”

“Not much, missy, and it was… it was a good hurt.”

“Mom?” Patrick says. “You feeling better now?”

“I’m feeling wonderful, little guy,” she says, and yawns. “But sleepy. This is hard work! I’m hungry, too.”

“Will she be able to play soon?” Alexa asks, with ruthless four-year-old practicality. “She looks too little to play.”

I ruffle her hair. “She’ll be able to walk in about a year,” I say. “And say her first words.”

“Oh,” Alexa says, obviously thinking that babies weren’t much use; a year is still a very long time indeed to her. 

“You two should run along,” I say, setting Alexa down and giving Patrick a hug. “Erin needs to have something to eat… why don’t you go and tell Chiron about it all? Tom, you could go see they don’t break their necks.”

The room clears. Tamar and I draw up chairs and sit by Erin’s right side; Alice is on the other, and Marie-Claire and her assistants are putting the final touches to the crib and cradle. The food comes, and we cut it up and feed her; she’s laughing as she takes bites off the forks we hold. The baby nurses again, burps for the first time with wide-eyed surprise, then falls asleep with limp infant finality, head against her breast.

“Let me hold her here,” Erin says, and yawns again. “mmmm…”

Quietly, everyone but Alice leaves the room. I close the door and laugh again, for the simple sake of it, and Tamar joins me. 

“Everything went very well,” I say to the estate staff gathered in a little clump in the corridor. “Ariadne Ingolfsson is doing well, and so is her brooder.” 

A quiet cheer, and a cheerful hubbub of voices; I hold up my palms for quiet. “We’ll go on with the preparations for the party tomorrow –” Henry gives a silent sigh of relief; like most good administrators, he hates last-minute changes “ -- but the two days after will be holiday, essential tasks only. There will be a holiday bonus, too, and an extra two days this coming winter, on a roster – estate saafn will have transport to the Ingolfsson property in the Bahamas; consider it a Christmas present from your new Missy.”

Right now I feel like spreading the happiness around; and it’s traditional, too. “Oh, Henry,” I say. “About a month or two from now, I’m afraid there will have to be another party – the Naming Feast; it’s traditional. On a rather larger scale than this one tomorrow, probably. You’ll have whatever resources you need for it, of course.”

Shawonda comes out smiling. “Well, mother… ah, brooder and child are doing well and sleeping quietly,” she says. “Alice is taking a nap with her as well.”

“Excellent,” I say. “Nice work, Shawonda. Especially since you were, ah, distracted at the start.”

“Sho’ ‘nuff, Muhmis!” she says. “One minute things were really getting interesting, Aysha’s yelling, I feel like it but can’t, you’re growling up a thunderstorm, and the next I’m watching you race up the path in a blur.” She looks around. “I had your clothes somewhere –”

Aysha comes forward; she bobs her head, straws still stuck in the raven-black mass. “Here, Muhmis,” she says, holding out the boots, briefs, black-leather pants and sleeveless silk shirt. “May Allah bless your child.”

“Thank you, pretty one,” I say. “Come on; a bed’s more comfortable anyway… Tamar? Stay the night?”

“Certainly,” she says.

We lead the saafn up the staircase from the main hall. Aysha gives a little gasp at the décor of my bedchamber and suite; she’s probably never seen this part of the manor, since she’s an outdoor worker. I’m rather proud of it myself; the peacock mosaics on the floor are nice, and the Isfahan rugs, but the tapestries are particularly pleasing – those came from a museum in France. On the Prime Line they were destroyed in the Eurasian War; priceless stuff. They show the Burgundian court at play, high-stepping horses and lords in gorgeous pirpoint jerkins and hose and floppy hats, hawks on their wrists and greyhounds dancing at their stirrups. Tamar’s Devla did the abstract carving on the bedposts; strange work, but there’s a feeling of restful flow to them. I think the Afghan’s looking at a small piece in ivory, jet, gold and ebony I brought through from the Prime Line, though; it shows a Draka and her wench at what we’ll soon be about… Quite ancient, from well before the Final War – 1920’s, to use the old calendar. I’ve always liked it; Great-Aunt Tanya gave it to me on my eighteenth birthday and I spent one very interesting day a little later trying to get exactly the same position…

I hear Shawonda’s sharp gasp, the rustle of clothes, Tamar’s chuckle. Aysha is flushed, her lips moist. “Now,” I say, running my fingers through her mane. “Where was I, pretty pony?”

Several hours later I’m gripping the handholds on the wall of the shower while Aysha runs the luffa sponge over my back. 

“Harder, wench,” I say, savoring the rough friction and the jets of steaming-hot water that are massaging me from three directions; the air roils with the mist. Tamarindus and Shawonda are in the big circular hot tub; whatever my saafn is doing, it’s making my friend roll her head back and growl softly – for a human, that wench has real stamina.

Aysha finishes with me and soaps herself; I watch, enjoying the gleam of water on her smooth curves; she throws smiles at me through her wet tangle of black hair. Her first experience of serving my pleasure wasn’t as alarming as she thought it would be, it seems.

“Let’s –” I begin to say.

Muhmis? I hear. Erin’s transducer, the code running automatically through my consciousness.

Erin? I reply sharply. Are you all right? Tamar’s head comes up swiftly, in a motion that matches mine.

I’m fine and Ariadne is too, she says. I catch a wearily good-humored overtone to the brooder’s thought/voice. It’s Alice. I’m afraid we’re doing everything together today... including interrupting you.

**  
I yawn a little as the last of the guests arrive, and thank the Ancestors that three hours is a full night’s sleep for us. The landing-field behind the manor is full of the air cars – except for one next-door neighbor, who rode over horseback with his mate – and a bustle of servants, dogs, baggage and children. The gods of weather have been kind; it’s a bright late-spring day, with a few fleecy white clouds like cotton-candy puffs in a deep blue sky. Pyhros and Eric, the pair on horseback, swing down to grip wrists with me as the grooms lead their horses away.

“Too fine a day for sitting in a machine, Gwen,” Eric says – it’s an informal occasion, no titles. “And congratulations, by the way.”

“Perfect for a party,” I say. “Glad to get that out of the way beforehand.” 

We walk up to the broad I-shaped terrace that links the courtyards in the E-shape of the manor, our boots crunching on crushed-limestone gravel and then clicking on the risers of the staircase; that’s lined with alabaster vases reaching chest-high, spilling purple flowers down their sides. Saafn wait at the top, with flower-wreaths and glasses of chilled white wine. The terrace has a fountain – Tuscan, Renaissance work; oddly enough, the very same piece was looted by my grandfather for Claestum Plantation, in the Prime Line’s history – and some low planters. Today there are also tables, chairs and awnings; the view southward is into the garden courtyards and pools of Gwendolyn Hall. North are lawns, pools, the small river and its fringing willows trailing green osiers into the water; beyond it horses gallop, and white-faced cattle raise dripping muzzles.

“Friends,” I say, when the guests have gathered. “Brothers and sisters of the Race.”

A stone lies on the terrace; I go to one knee and take it in my hand, bring it to my lips, taste and scent the rock-and-earth smell of it. Then I stand, and hold the symbol of this land above my head. The Draka present salute, fist to breast; the humans and servus kneel.

“I take siezen of this land, to be my land and the domain of my blood, from generation unto generation,” I say. Formal words, but they ring like a brazen trumpets across the house and over the fields. “I hold it and all its folk by right of the sword, by the law of the Race, by the right of the strongest. Let any who would take it from me speak if they dare!”

Silence echoes. I smile and relax; by Domination law, these acres are now sealed to the Ingolfsson bloodline. “Thank you, my brothers, my sisters, for your witness. My house and my saafn are yours, as my guests.” 

Everything within reason, and not including a few of my personal body-servants; those go without saying. We’re a mannerly folk, for the most part; we have to be, or we kill each other. Nobody here is going to provoke me; effectively, I’m the sole patron and every other Draka on the planet is my client, since I control access to Earth/2 and our numbers here are small enough for the hierarchies to be simple.

A smile breaks through, and turns into a broad grin. “And as you’ll have heard, the Ingolfsson bloodline acquired a new representative yesterday.”

A short baying cheer comes from my people and they surge forward to congratulate me and Tamar, then troop over to take a look at the Race’s latest recruit. Erin sits and holds Ariadne, who is resolutely asleep. She wakes occasionally, snuffles up at a face bending over her, and drops off again. When she does wake, it’s with an insistent demand for food, tiny plump hands waving straight up. Alice is there too with her daughter, looking rather more worn; I remind myself to see that she naps this afternoon. 

Tamar smiles; she’s brought her brooder Josie, with Devla hovering behind her. They’re both curious, of course, and Josie’s leaning close to Erin – close as her stomach allows – asking questions.

“A real Draka, that one,” Tamar says quietly to me as she looks at our child feeding. “Goes straight for what she wants.”

“Speaking of which, I’m hungry,” I say. “Let’s hit the buffet.”

We stroll over to the long table and take plates; servers in white wait behind it. “Some of the beef,” I say. “From the rare end… couple of those lobster tails…”


	34. Chapter Thirty Four

Chapter 34

**  
It’s been a few days since the birth, and I feel fine. The baby’s either eating or sleeping; she does a lot of both. That’s a relief, too, since I felt like I was the Hindenburg, ready to bust, by the time she decided to make her entrance to the world. She’s a strong little critter, though, as Alexandra was, when I nursed her. A lot stronger than Patrick, that’s for sure. Alice is doing well, although not quite as quick to bounce back like I was—but she and our baby daughter are both beautiful.

I felt bad interrupting Gwen again, the moment Alice realized that baby was on its way; I mean, I had interrupted Muhmis once already that day of days. But I’m sure she can cope, I think smugly to myself. The last few weeks of pregnancy, my interest in sex became rather academic. I began focusing on things like learning where the nearest bathroom was, and how to get up and down from chairs. But now… my hormones are coming back on line, and the idea of being frisky is… interesting again.

The party’s almost over; a few close friends of Gwen’s, Draka, are still here, but the majority of Draka, their children, and all their servants have left already. The sheer size or magnitude of the party was amazing. The amount of food consumed staggered my imagination, when the House Steward showed me the invoices. Hardly any left-overs, too. Amazing. And this isn’t even the big party, I think—what’ll that be like, for God’s sake?

The games they played, in the grassy swards down by the riverside, were Olympian in proportion, and breathtakingly beautiful to watch. The human Draka certainly designed a pretty species, that’s for damn sure. Male and female—there’s a slight androgynous look and feel to both genders, but when you see them competing, it’s not so much their gender you notice. It’s their grace, their inhuman athletic ability, their lightning fast reflexes. And their competitive spirit, certainly. I thought that one young Draka man was going to burst into tears when Gwen and his mother carried him off the field, his hip dislocated from a rough wrestling bout. He wanted to continue, but they made him stop for the afternoon, to give his body time to heal. And what a body, as Alice commented from her chaise lounge, with a smile a mile wide.

I look around to see if Shawonda’s standing guard over me; she’s busy for the moment, and the babies are asleep. Ahah! Great time to make a getaway! I carefully get up from the lounger I’ve been lounging in (there are other things you can do in them, as Gwen’s shown me, but lounging’s the laziest), and make my way past the pool. Two or three laughing children are splashing about; I hear Alexandra’s clear voice over the others, and pause to look.

She’s got Patrick up on her shoulders, and he’s wobbling a bit, but doesn’t look afraid. With a shout, she heaves him up, into the air, and he curls into a ball as he plummets down, making a perfect cannonball entrance. The other kids, Draka and human alike, cheer, and she blushes. Patrick surfaces in time to catch the clapping, and ducks his head. She swims over to him, moving like an eel in the clear water, and hugs my son. I blink tears away, wishing Peter, Patrick’s dad, could see this. If they can play together like this, maybe there’s some hope for the future, I think, and ease myself past the shrubbery that gives the pool some privacy.

I wander aimlessly, enjoying my stolen moments of freedom. Shawonda means well, but sometimes I just want to do my own thing. Now that I can see my own feet, I’d like to let them walk me somewhere. I find myself ambling toward the complex of barns, stables and outbuildings down the lane from the main house, and hear the high whickering of horses. The scent of newly cut hay, so comforting somehow, fills my nose, and I sigh happily.

The dust from the road is a bit dry and makes me sneeze—I cover my nose and mouth in reflex, and a horse trots over to the fence to see what I have for her. “Sorry, old girl—I’ll get some sugar cubes or an apple for you next time, okay?” I say, stroking her broad nose gently. She whuffs at me, her huge intelligent eyes looking me over hopefully. I hand her some grass—it’s always better from the grass on your side of the fence, I laugh to myself, and she daintily nibbles it from my hand.

I walk on, checking in via transducer, to what the Planning Committee has been doing. Not much, from the messages left for me. I’ll have to get back in the swing of things, ride herd a little, and get everyone back on track. It’s going to be hard, though, because there’s the big Naming Ceremony party coming up, I think, and wonder what we can get accomplished between then and now. The global network is working faultlessly, which pleases me to no end; that was a hell of a lot of work to design, plan and implement. Maintenance shouldn’t be so hard, either, since we built a lot of self-maintaining devices into it. The miracles of Draka technology, I snicker. Couldn’t have done it without them…

There’s a lot of things you couldn’t do without them, the tiny ever-present voice in my head whispers snidely. Like make the ungodly amount of money you’re making. Jennifer had just told me, before the baby’s birth, that I was making more money than some countries made, before the Arrival. I’m glad she took me under her wing, so to speak, and started showing me how to invest it and work with it. I’ve even bought some land, myself. Gwen said she’d modify Draka law to allow certain serfs to own things, like land, or a house… so I bought up the country surrounding the cabin home where my grandparents, Mamaw and Papaw, had lived and died. That way no one’ll build a condo on top of y’all, I think, smiling, remembering.

Yeah, there’s a lot of pluses with the arrival of the Draka…and a lot of minuses. With luck and some hard work, I can try my best to keep the minus column short. Shorter than it would be otherwise, anyhow. Good justification, the voice says, since you helped bring the Arrival about. Bull! I think back, the smile running from my face. It would have happened regardless, and I just happened to be in the right or wrong spot, either way you look at it, at the time. Gwen would have conquered the world all by herself if the Project hadn’t worked, and I think there would have been a hell of a lot more bloodshed then, compared to this. I don’t like being a serf, never will, really. But that’s the way the ball bounces, in this life time, anyway. This time around the circle. I wouldn’t want to be a Draka, either. I wish we could work together as equals, someday, but hell if I know when that’ll happen, if ever…

The barn buildings, white stone and red-painted wood, loom ahead. I duck into the first one, smelling oats, fresh hay, the metallic smell of water in the troughs. Leatherwork hangs neatly along one wall, and I stop to look it over. The scent and the feel of it make me remember helping Papaw hitch up his team, an ancient brown mare and her gelding son, a spotted one. He’d take me for rides out in the fields, as we dropped off hay for the cows and deer to eat. I remember that so well—one of the few happy times in my childhood, away from my parents. The barn’s well-kept, neat; not a lot of stuff lying around getting rusty or mildewy. I hear a shuffling footstep, and turn to meet its owner.

The man’s wizened, bent over from years of working with horses and leather, but his arms bulge with clearly defined muscles. Scars, most old, some newer and more pinkish, line his forearms; his bright blue eyes peer at me under a forest of white bushy eyebrows. A moustache, as white as the eyebrows, twitches in greeting. “Missy.”

“Um, hi. Great leather work here…some of this looks really old, too…wonderful stitching…” I smile, fingering the traces in my hand.

“Thanks. My granddaddy made them. They still do what they’re made to do, too. They will, as long as folks take good care of them. Same with most stuff.” He looks up at me, or rather at me, since with his stoop, he’s at eye level with me. “What can I do you for—horse to ride?”

“No, sir…not today. Not right after…” I blush. “Um, I just had a baby a couple of days ago. I think I’ll take a rain check on the horse ride.”

He ratches in his overall pocket and pulls out a weathered leather pouch. “Care to set a spell?” He produces a pipe, equally as weathered and worn as the leather pouch, and begins loading it with a dark chunk of fragrant tobacco.

I realize I must have passed some sort of test, and nod, smiling. He leads the way, shuffling slowly along the corridor, between the stalls, and we end up at the other end of the barn, where two men are sitting, leaning back in their chairs, enjoying the mild spring day coming in through the double doors. They stand, and one doffs his hat, grinning.

“Congratulations, Miss, uh, Sera, Kane…on your baby…” The other man nods, a knife and a piece of whittling wood in his hands.

“Oh, so you’re the little missy what gave birth to the Muhmis’ pup, eh?” The old man settles down into a chair, and continues working on his pipe, his arthritic-looking hands deftly handling all sorts of little tampers, pokey things, the pipe, the tobacco….

“You know you shouldn’t talk that way, Gramps,” the youngest of the three, the one who took his hat off for me, whispers, his brow knitting in worry. 

The other man leans against the red-painted door, the whittling put away somewhere in his voluminous overall pockets. His deeply-black, seamed face is impassive, and obsidian eyes look out at me. I can see he’s wearing a mask of sorts—one I’ve seen men and women wear when they meet someone in power, someone to be afraid of. It makes my heart burn, and I wonder what to say.

“Wayull, what the hell they gonna do? Kill me? Been tried. I’m tougher than shoe leather, meaner than a rattler…hell, son, I’m so old they’d just have to yell at me to kill me. I ain’t worried none,” Gramps concludes, and gestures with a free hand. “Let the little missy set a spell. She knows leather work, I’ll give her that.”

The young man offers me his chair, and I thank him, sitting down. There’s an odd silence, and it feels tense. “Um, y’all, to be honest…am I bugging you or something? I just like to get away from all that household stuff every once in a while, and came down here, hoping to just talk, or feed the horses, or chase barn cats, or something…” I trail off, unsure if I’ve said too much or not enough. “ I know how to sweep, brush horses…”

“Bret Hart’s the name, horse training’s the game,” murmurs the lanky Black man, extending a huge hand. I shake it, and I can tell he’s being extra careful not to squish my hand, which looks tiny in his.

“Erin Kane, and computer’s the game,” I smile. “Although country living ought to be.”

“Um, I’m George Harlin, ma’am,” says the nervous young man with the hat. “Glad to meet you.”

“Please, no ma’am stuff here, guys, really,” I grin, taking his hand and shaking it. “I’m just Erin, okay?”

Gramps looks at me from under his eyebrows. I suddenly realize that he’s the spitting image of Gandalf, and half expect him to announce that Gandalf’s his name, wizardry’s his game. He smiles, slowly, and says, “Right enough. Sam’l Thomas. Former blacksmith. Glad to know ya.” He goes back to working on his pipe.

The mood’s shifted suddenly, and I relax. Leaning the chair back against the door, I swing my feet free, and look up into the bright blue, cloud-flecked sky. Inhaling deeply, I catch the scent of Samuel’s pipe tobacco, and find myself transported back again to Papaw. He always smoked Navy Gold, as I recall, getting it in big boxes. Mamaw said that was his worst vice, and she could live with it. I remember the smell, and how comforted I always felt. When he’d be coming in at the end of a long day, or when it was storming, you could always smell him coming. His aftershave and his pipe—two smells that automatically bring up his memories. I smile, reminiscing.

“Yep?” asks George, from the hay and straw-scattered floor where he’s sitting, whittling now himself. He’s looking up at me, a little curiously, and grinning himself.

“Just remembering Papaw, and his pipe, and his aftershave. Amazing what smells will bring back, you know?” A crow calls outside, and I turn to see it fly past the open door, silhouetted for a moment against the brightness.

“Rain crow. Gonna come a good one, in a day or so. Don’t you think, Sam?” Bret finishes what he’s been whittling, and tosses it underhand to me. It lands in my lap, a little cat, curled up with its tail under its chin, asleep. I laugh in delight, turning it over, admiring the workmanship.

“Yep. Need it, too. Been a couple a weeks, since last one. Might be some fancy weather, though, this time of year. Remember that twister, when was it? Back when Ripley worked with us, for the Turners? That’s been, what, ten, ‘leven years ago?”

“Yeah, man, that was some storm. Come right outta nowhere—it was a pretty day, a little cloudy, like this—then wham, bam, thank you ma’am, that twister was on us, the barn roof went flying, and we found Ripley about four hours later, over in the back forty. Damn thing carried him that far, and he knocked himself out, or it did. He was lying on a piece of two-by-four, covered with mud and straw, I remember…” Bret closes his eyes and whistles. “Never was worth a lick of work after that, was he?”

“Nope.” Sam puffs contentedly on his pipe, fragrant blue clouds of smoke rising out the door, only to sink when they reach the open walking yard. “Some storm.”

“I’ve never been in one of those,” volunteers George, looking at the sky a little nervously. He grins again, and ten years seem to leave his tanned face as he smiles.

“I have, one or two. Mamaw and Papaw lost part of their house one time, but we were in the cellar, thank God.” I shiver a bit, recalling the freight-train sound bearing down on the cabin.

“Heard that, Erin. Amen!” Bret says, seriously. The horses whicker in their stalls, and the three men look up, expectantly.

“Lord, look at the lather she’s got him in. That woman…” Sam puffs a bit harder on his pipe, and slowly stands. I hear the sharp clatter of hooves on the cobblestones outside the barn, and Gwen’s laughing voice saying, “Whoah, now.” The three men walk out toward the noises, and I follow, somewhat sheepishly. I’m caught now, I think, and blush. Would have been better to have Shawonda catch me, maybe.

“Ho! Good ride. This is a fine stallion, Samuel. A bit feisty, but that’s fine. Sssaa, boy, calm, calm.” She leaps lithely from the English saddle, her grin bright in her tanned face. Her hair’s in a braid, but short strands have come loose, and some stick to her face with sweat. Her eyes widen for an instant as she sees me, and I blush even deeper. “Here, ah, George, right? Here, walk him about, until he’s not so hot. Then a cool wipe down, and some mash.”

The young man bobs his head rapidly, and takes the reins from her hand. She pats him gently on the shoulder, and I see him jump a little, stiffening. Muhmis just chuckles, and strolls toward me, her hands on her hips. Her white silk blouse is plastered to her, and I see that Samuel and Bret are carefully looking anywhere but there…it’s kind of hard not to, I think. Her jodhpurs are dark olive, and black leather riding boots rise to her knees. She smells, as she gets closer to me, of woman, sweat, and horse, slightly.

“Well, out of bed and wandering far afield, hmm, my wench?” Gwen murmurs, drily. I nod, unsure of what to say. “Does Shawonda know?”

“Um, no, not really, Muhmis…she’s been a bulldog of a nurse the last couple of days, and I just had to get out…sorry.” I twist one toe into the ground, wishing I could disappear.

“Sssaa, girl, that’s because I told her to…” Gwen slips an arm around me, hugging me to her. The men look away, their faces telling me they wished they could disappear, too. Gwen picks up on it immediately, and laughs softly. “All right, shyness, come along. We’ll walk back to the house together. Thanks for the ride, Samuel. You’ve a good eye for horses. I won’t forget.”

She steers me through the barn, and out into the sunshine again. “You really should have told Shawonda.”

“I know. I just got…restless. I needed to get out, Muhmis, or do something…” I look up into her face, and see she’s smiling down on me, fondly. “I know she’s a great nurse, hell, she’d be a great doctor. But sometimes…”

“There’s a reason for everything, Erin. I wanted you and Alice under observation because there are some unsettling hints…the Samothracian may be nearby, targeting us because there’s such a high concentration of Draka here, and will be, for the Naming Ceremony. I had you under surveillance, though, through your transducer. I knew when you snuck out…and knew where you were. They’re good men, all of them, back there.”

“I didn’t know about the Samothracian, Gwen. Sorry,” I say, gulping. I go on: “Yes, I know about the guys back there. I wasn’t sure if they’d accept me or not, but I think they have. They didn’t clam up on me. We even talked about the weather. Next thing would have been politics, or religion. Or horses,” I smile. She hugs me close again, and I feel the warmth from her body pulsing into mine.

“Mmmhhh…feels good to get my arms all the way around you again. How do you feel, sweet?” There’s a purring undertone to her voice that makes my knees quiver. I snuggle against her, feeling the thrill of arousal.

“I feel fine, Muhmis…” 

“Good. Let’s get back to the house, and you and I can take a bath…sound fun?” Her hands running over my flanks discover the lump, and one hand flashes into the pocket of my jeans, bringing out the little whittled cat. She palms it, looking it over, with a fond smile on her face. “A gift?”

“Yes, from Bret. He tossed it to me a few minutes ago…”

“It’s lovely, Erin. I should see if he’ll make some for the children. Here,” and she hands it back to me, stroking my hair from my forehead. The heat from her hand burns into me, and desire yowls inside. I gasp, slightly, and gaze into her eyes.

The clouds make the sunlight form patterns on the fields next to us, and a shadow drifts across us as she speaks. I wait for it to clear, seeing her eyes sparkle leaf-green, ancient, knowing, in the returned sunlight. I can’t speak, only nodding, and she chuckles. “It has been a while for you, hasn’t it, pretty pony?”

**  
Erin?

It’s Shawonda’s transducer, the unmistakable sharp note of her mind.

She’s with me, I reply. Found her down by the stables.

Dammit, I told her not to exert herself! 

“Sorry/ Sorry, ” Erin says/thinks sheepishly.

It’s all right, Shawonda, I say. I’ll put her to bed, and by the time I’m finished with her, she’ll want to rest until dinner.

Lucky girl, Shawonda replies, annoyance giving way to amusement. 

Isn’t she, I answer, letting a hint of laughter into the link and then breaking off.

I walk up through the terrace and into the manor, leading Erin by the hand. The party was a success, and if our little Samothracian friend had something in mind, they haven’t been able to do anything about it as yet. Eventually, I’m going to get them. Either they’ll do nothing, and it will take a while, or they’ll try a strike, and it will be quick. There have been indications from the surveillance net – not confirmed sightings, but odd gaps in coverage. Samothracian espionage AI is good enough to fox our sensors sometimes, but not to hide the fact that something is missing. I smile within myself, showing mental teeth. I’ve got the ghouloons combing the woods. It would be nice to give them a hunt. I can never be quite easy with an enemy on my world.

Or Alexis will finally get through to them on the Prime Line, I think, and put the matter from my mind for now. Sam Thomas really knows horses. It’s a pity about that spinal curvature… yes, I’ll check with the meditechs. We can probably do something about it. He’s too old for palliative treatments to give him the full human-potential lifespan, but they can certainly help. 

“I like that old man, Sam Thomas,” I say. “He reminds me of Antinio – the head groom at Claestum when I was a youngster. Taught me a good deal about horses; taught my mother, for that matter. I’ve got some of his descendants at Eponastead.”

I smile. “Sam wasn’t as spooked by Chiron as most of the others, either! Hmmm.”

“Yeah!” Erin laughs. “I’m… well, I’ve had the trips to the Prime Line with you, but I think the transgenes weird people here out about as much as anything since the Arrival.” Subvocally: And the damned ghouloons terrify everyone, me included.

“Well, that’s what they were designed for,” I say. “Sam just thinks Chiron’s a natural with horses.” I pause for thought. “Patrick and Alexa will be big enough to start on their own ponies quite soon – I rode nearly as soon as I walked. I’ll tell Sam to look out for a couple of good, stable, unexcitable ones; there ought to be some around here.”

“He reminded me of Papaw,” Erin says. “He feels… solid.”

I nod. “I’ve noticed that people – Draka, servus, human – who really know something and know who they are, are often like that.” A shake of the head. “I think he volunteered to work here because nobody else would keep him around their horses. Idiots. It’s an art.”

We walk up through one of the garden courtyards. I nod to de Lange, who’s lying on a lounger talking to a young buck he’s taken a fancy to the last three days – quite comely, despite the appalling name of BillyBob. My head of Household security waves back, then turns back to the human, saying something that makes him flush red down to the waistline of the jeans he’s wearing and laugh at the same time. The Draka runs a finger down his neck, then pulls him closer for a kiss…

The sliding glass doors let us into the atrium that runs up to the roof; we go through the big room – for dancing and indoor banquets, eventually; I admire the tessellated floor, laid by some experts Alice dug up for me in Australia, of all places. Although they were Italian by origin; even today on the Prime Line a good many servus masons come from there.

Inside, the house staff are busy, putting everything to rights; the furnishings are still a bit sparse, I’m collecting with care and patience, but the overall effect is quite pleasing. I nod and smile, thanking a few for extra efforts during the party. We climb the main stairway, a double curve in the great hall, and I pause at the nursery.

Alice is inside, feeding Ariadne; the big room is shady and cool, with the shutters across the windows but fresh air moving gently through it, full of country smells. There are two cribs with mobiles; and a couple of big playpens. Marie-Claire is arranging things in a cupboard, and gives me a wide white smile.

“Hi, love, Muhmis,” Alice says softly, her face lighting. “Sweet May’s asleep and I was topping up this little tiger’s tank.”

I sigh with pleasure at the sight of my child at the human’s breast… lovely, I think. “I’ve been riding,” I say.

“And you’re going riding,” Alice chuckles, looking at Erin. “When I’m a little less sore…”

“We’ll get you back on a regular program,” I laugh back at her, feeling a surge of affection. “Rest and heal; I want my little blonde bedwench back.”

My private sanctum is at the end of the long arched-stone corridor, double doors of Malabar teak studded with silver lion heads. Inside my private suite, Erin notices a new painting on the easel by the balcony to the lounging room. 

“Take a look,” I say. It’s nearly complete; fairly large, four feet by six, done in the Second Century style – High Romantic neorealist. “This one’s a present for Patrick, on his next birthday.”

At first glance it shows Erin sitting in the loveseat in my New York quarters, before the library fire, with Patrick in his pajamas and curled up beside her as she reads to him from a big leather-bound book. The room is in shadow except for the flickering red light of the fire, and it highlights Erin’s face, bringing out her pale skin and the warm brown-blond of her hair, the comfortable-looking folds of her robe – drapery is always difficult to catch, but this last century I think I’ve got it down at last – and the rich dark colors of the leather and book-bindings. There’s a plate of cookies and two cups of cocoa on the table before her, and her slippered feet are comfortably propped up beside them. Just the two of them…

Then you notice the small figure crouched in shadow at her feet, with bare hairy feet and a gold ring on one finger, arms around his knees; and the tall man with the dark weathered face and shoulder-length black hair leaning against the mantelpiece, stuffing tobacco into a long-stemmed pipe; the fire catches glints on his hooded gray cloak and the steel and bronze hilt of his long straight sword. Just at the edge, mostly cut off by the frame, is a corner of a chair… and a hint of someone in it, head cocked, one pointed ear parting golden hair, a hand with inhumanly slender, elegant fingers holding a glass of wine. A bow and quiver of silver-fletched arrows lean against the armrest. The outside window is dark and streaked with rain, but if you look carefully there’s just the suspicion of red eyes in a goblin face…

“Oh, Gwen,” Erin says.  
**  
I look over the painting, noting the details, the fine lines, the artistry. My heart thumps, and I’m amazed at how lifelike it seems. Patrick’s hair, the light of the fire, even the leather cover of the book. This is amazing, I think to myself, and feel tears welling.

“Gwen…it’s…I…” I turn to her, and our eyes meet. For a moment, there’s a communication there, a feeling… almost like what I used to share with Peter. I noticed recently that Patrick and I can do it—it’s a way of looking, of reading the other person so well you know what they’re thinking, feeling. I’ve never felt this before with Gwen. Always, there’s something to remind me of how different she really is from me, something alien—the heat of her body, from the supercharged metabolism, the occasional cultural jarring, her gaps of popular knowledge, her superfast reflexes, her strength.

But none of that seems to matter, for that moment, which stretches out, seeming to last years but in reality, only seconds… Her eyes are deep green pools, and I long to swim in them, maybe see the world from her view, her to see it from my vantage point. Somehow, here, with this picture of me and my son, she’s touched something in me I never thought she could. Words have left me; I can’t say what I want to say, I think…

I reach up, on tip toe, and lace my fingers around the back of her neck, gently pulling her down to me, pulling her lips to mine, and the touch of her hands on my body creates a fire that rocks me, stuns me with the heat and the intensity. The moment lingers as we kiss, and part of me mourns that it ever has to stop at all...ah, Gwendolyn, I sigh, as she holds me tightly…if only…

**  
I break off the kiss and lead her into the suite’s baths. “Wait,” I murmur. “Stand still.” I slide the t-shirt off over her head, unsnap her jeans… when she’s standing before me naked I stand back a little, hands on her shoulders.

“I’ve missed the pleasure you give me, pretty pony,” I say, holding her eyes with mine, and my hands move. “This… this… this too…”

She quivers under my touch. I take her breasts in my hands, heavy with nursing, and squeeze gently. Pinching a little, bending to lip away the drops of white that form on her nipples. Brooder’s milk, sweet and strong. I ache with need; my pheromones reach their peak, but I hold onto control and straighten.

“Undress me, my saafn.”

Lovely, I think, watching her face as it almost glows with the rush of blood beneath her skin. We’ve grown very sensitive to each other’s clues, in these years. There’s a thrill to a conquest, but there’s nothing quite like the supple… merging… feeling when you take a saafn who’s bonded thoroughly, I think. And Erin is one in a hundred even in that company; I discover new depths to her all the time. Her hands are trembling as she pulls the silk from its contact with my sweat-slick skin. The jodhpurs give her a little trouble and she has to turn and struggle with the riding boots, my hands on her half caress and half helpful push.

Then I pull her to me, growling, bending her back with my lips on hers and wheeling her under the arching sprays of hot water…

**  
“Greetings, grandmother,” Alexis says.

I’m taking this conference call in my study. It’s informal; we’re both in lounging robes. Alexis has his favorite with him – Andri’s his confidant, as well as his choicest prettybuck – and Erin’s bringing me another coffee and a whiskey. Maker’s Mark, a local brand, and very good. Alexis is on a terrace of the Palace, overlooking Archona. The warm sienna-colored air and the soft palette of colors in the background makes me a little nostalgic, but this world I’ve made my own has its own beauties. It’s afternoon there, night here – the diurnal cycle isn’t matched between the Prime Line and Earth/2.

“Greetings, Archon of the Domination,” I say, a little pawkiness in my tone. 

He shrugs and makes a slight dismissive gesture. Handsome lad, I think – and then haul myself up sharply. Lad he isn’t; he’s an adult, nearly two hundred years old and very nearly my match. Still, he’s a bit reassured by the title.

“Good news,” he goes on. “We’ve made a useful mole hole contact. We’re calling it Earth/3, so far – although the historians say it should be called the Church Triumphant Line.”

“Well, they want to call this one Euro-American,” I say with a chuckle, sipping at the Maker’s Mark. Really excellent, if you like bourbon – and I do, I think. 

“It’s technologically more backward than yours,” he says. “Second Century BFS level – gunpowder and steam engines, just developing the telegraph. Evidently the Catholic Church came out on top in its struggles with the secular monarchs in that line, and united Europe under its hegemony. We’ve operating a relay transit through Deadline/7. Shouldn’t be difficult to take over; easier than Earth/2, even. I’m putting Felice Vashon in charge of the task force.”

I raise an eyebrow. “Really, Alexis?”

“Really, grandmother,” he says with equal dryness. “I’m a Renston, too, remember, not just an Ingolfsson and a relative of the von Shrakenbergs.”

“Well, hard luck on the humans there,” I say. “I can’t imagine a Vashon having much use for archaics.”

“Felice isn’t too bad,” he replies. “I gave her some samples from Earth/2, and she says she’s quite satisfied with them. One did suicide, but the other two have broken to her beautifully – she confessed to a little surprise.”

“Shrewd move,” I say. “Perhaps you can split her off from the rest of that kin-clan.”

“Or conciliate them,” he says. “You may not appreciate how the mole hole discoveries have changed the parameters of things here. Emigration alone… now that we’ve got working mole holes to the interstellar colonies, nearly a thousand a week are leaving.”

I nod, thoughtful. That ought to take a lot of the tension out of Domination politics, and the intergenerational conflicts as well. It also ought to make the pressure to open up Earth/2 to full settlement easier to resist. I want to do that very gradually… Hmmmm. With a Vashon in the same position -- Felice is three hundred, and I’d wager a couple of internal organs she’ll want to go slow as well – it ought to be easier to swing the Council of Directorates behind me on that. I have War Zone powers, but practical politics make my position a little less secure than that might imply. The more worlds available the better, I decide, not for the first time.

“And of course we’re increasing the size of the military,” the Archon says. “Sopping up a lot of the young and the restless. We’re back up to strength after the fleet actions around the Samothracian mole holes, and of course we do have a larger population than they do, just taking the Draka alone. And they’re limited by their reproductive policies… although they’ve hinted that they’d like our orthowomb technology.

“Interesting indeed,” I muse. 

Orthowombs – completely synthetic, and perfectly capable of bringing a fetus to term – aren’t much used in the Domination, except for experimental work on new species where necessary. We’re a conservative people, and brooders are an old tradition; the machines are useful for lab work though, where you want to observe embryo development closely -- the first generation of centaurs were brooded that way, for instance. The Samothracians aren’t nearly as good as we at biotech in general, but… I bring up my memories of their cultural symbolism and mores. Yes, they’d find a machine like the orthowomb much more acceptable than living brooders.

“My analysts – and Andri here – think there’s some chance we may actually come to an agreement,” he says. “Not that either party will ever trust the other, or pass up a real opportunity for a knockout blow. The mole hole ends the isolation of solar systems and makes real war possible, but it also opens up a big universe, not to mention paratemporal exploration. We can’t destroy each other – not without risking destruction ourselves – and for the next couple of millennia at least, neither of us can hope to completely dominate our surroundings. There’s just too much of it.”

I grimace slightly, matching his expression. On the one hand, endless conquest – wonderful. On the other, no end to risk, either…

“If you do, get the damned infiltrator off my world,” I say.

He chuckles. “An itch you can’t scratch, grandmother?”

“For now.”

His hard-cut face grows serious. “They’ve been dropping hints about that – part of a package of mutual concessions, to demonstrate intent to agree,” he says. “But… they’ll want him back alive.”

I growl, then force control on myself. “Well… if you must. You’re head of the Race.” It takes a real effort to say that – which isn’t at all unpleasing to Alexis. I control resentment; it’s natural enough.

“I’ll keep you fully briefed,” he says. “Service to the State, grandmother.”

“Glory to the Race, Alexis.”

The holograph blinks out. Erin refills my glass, and sips at her beer. “Muhmis… what’s this with the Vashons and… the von Shrakenbergs?” She shivers a little, remembering her dream.

“Old family rivalry,” I say. “In essence, back in the Old Domination, there was a… a philosophical split over how to use biotechnology. One faction wanted to reprogram the serfs very extensively – virtually removing their individuality. The Vashons were prominent in that. The other one – my ancestors, the von Shrakenbergs, the Ingolfssons – were moderates; they just wanted to remove any possibility of actual revolt. They largely won the debate and the political struggle; although to my way of thinking the Ancestors went a little far with the servus, making them defenseless. The political rivalry faded away after a while, although you’d still find the Vashons mostly more strict with their chattel than say, my family. But with these new worlds we’re conquering, it’s showing signs of reviving. The Vashons and their allies say it’s too dangerous to keep unmodified archaic humans around in numbers – particularly as we’re spreading our technology here, which inevitably means some humans will be instructed in it. They say there’s a substantial risk down the road, of dominated humans going feral. Felice will undoubtedly insist on having Earth/3’s population genegeneered into servus.”

I sip meditatively at my drink, relishing the lovebite of the bourbon, and the smoothness. “I must admit, there is a risk. We’ll see how the first generation of humans brought up here turn out.” I smile. “Frankly, I think Patrick’s a delight, for instance… so far. And there’s the question of wild talents. We may find humans, under our control, a real asset. Time will tell.” 

I turn my eyes to Erin. “What’s your opinion, sweetlin’?”

**  
“I…are you really interested, Muhmis?” My eyes have opened wide, and my mouth is, too—I never really expected her to ask my opinion on such things.

“Yes, youngster…” she laughs, stroking a long-fingered hand through my hair. “Tell me.”

“Well…” Thoughts race through my head, and I struggle for a moment to corral them. I sip my beer, a light, sweet one Alice found somewhere, and think. “Muhmis…let me see if I have this straight, before I go on. Alexis Renston is Archon, with a capital A, and then there’s a bunch of planetary archons, right? But you’re technically subordinate to him that way?”

Gwen nods, steepling her fingers, gazing meditatively at me. Her coffee steams fragrantly beside her, and the bourbon is next to it, reflecting the light of the fireplace. I go on:

“Now there’s a complication, due to the mole holes, the multiverse. In addition to riding herd, ah, that is...” Muhmis’ chuckle eases me on, “ah…he not only has to control all the planetary archons on the PrimeLine, but now on ours, Earth/2, and even another one—the Church Triumphant one, with Vashon. Soon, I reckon, there’ll be planetary archons here, on Mars, Venus…other places, right? In a hundred years or so, maybe?”

“Yes, quite right. Perhaps sooner than that, given the drive of the Draka and the curiosity of the humans in Space Force…”

“So he’s going to have a whole passel of folks with planets to run, and archon in their title. I don’t think he likes that much. He’s so… power-centered, it’s like it’s his whole reason for being, not just domination, or living, or finding new challenges. All y’all Draka are sort of…” I blush, looking down at my feet. “Um, well, to be frank, fixated on who’s on top, and how long they can stay there. I don’t think he ever wants to come down…and there’s another thing.”

She sips her coffee, then the bourbon, sighing with contentment. “Mh-hhmm?”

“He’s scared of you, Muhmis.”

A short, wolfish bark of laughter escapes her. Closing her leaf-green eyes for a moment, she nods, more seriously. “Yes, he is. He should be. He probably always will be, Erin. I raised him, after his parents died, and somehow he got the message that power equals everything in the universe, and once you have it, you should never let it go. Perhaps I was too distant with him as a child—I was busy being Archon, for a good part of his youth. When I let that go…I thought he’d be happy, since it meant he had a chance to move up. I think, in his heart, he hates me for the ability to walk away.”

I nod. That fits in with my view on him, I think. “Then you factor in the humans into the equation. He’s going to see your not wanting to alter the human genome as another potential for change, another problem…another thing to worry about. Do you have enough pull, in Draka politics, to make your ideas happen? Or am I playing violin on the deck of the Titanic?”

“The Titanic?” Her gaze slides over me, and I grin. She returns it, and raises an eyebrow in question.

“It was a famous ocean liner that sank, even though her makers said she was unsinkable. There’s a legend that the band, who all went down with the ship, played on her deck as she sank, after hitting an iceberg. Lots of people died…it was in 1912. Very sad, the end of an era, really. I have a book on it if you’d like to scan it. It’d take you about three or four minutes, the way you read.”

“Hmm…interesting analogy. No, the human ship’s not sinking, not yet. The creativity and curiosity of your species may very well be the key to opening the Universe, perhaps more than we can alone. That’s why I’m pushing you on the Space Force project, and the other, earth-based ones. We need a solid core of humans who are dedicated and loyal, trustworthy. If I can show that, to my supporters among the Von Shrakenberg Mafia, then I think we’ll have a very strong case for the Archonate.”

“The Von Shrakenberg Mafia? What’s that?” I drink some more beer, savoring the taste.

“It’s an informal group of political allies—mostly moderates—the name’s an ancient joke. Started by Eric Von Shrakenberg, back before the Final War, really, although the political and family alliances existed long before that. Mostly aristocratic folk, plantation owners…a lot of Draka Space Force folks. My mother’s the cause for that faction, really.”

“So you guys meet, eat dinner, and discuss stuff, and bump people off?”

“Bump…no, silly wench,” Gwen laughs, throwing her head back. “Although that does happen, with duels…but not as political purges, that sort of thing. Where’d that come from?”

“Well, the Mafia here is…organized crime, Italian. There are some movies about it—the Godfather series. You should see them sometime, at least the first one. Kinda scary, sorta interesting. I just thought with a name like that, you’d have somebody named Guido or something, ready to give someone some concrete shoes and a drop off a short pier…” I chuckle, into my glass, finishing my drink.

“Hmm…a whole segment I really haven’t learned a lot about. Of course, I knew about the Colombian drug cartels… that’s how I laundered quite a bit of the money I found in the warehouse. There were hints of crime families, and bosses—ah, capos? But I never really had time to pursue that avenue. I’ll have to do some research.” She sets her coffee cup down, empty.

“Do you want some more coffee, Muhmis?”

“No…I’ll work on this bourbon for a bit. So do you think the human population can be made loyal enough to risk having them around in numbers?”

“I think so. There’ll always be some folks who refuse to go along, but the majority, given the choice of death or life with servitude, will most likely go along. Especially with the technology, the health benefits, no more wars, exploring the stars, longer lives… the opportunities are amazing. The slavery thing kinda…” I catch myself, biting my tongue.

“Go on, be frank here, Erin…”

“Okay, I’m Frank. How ya doin?”

“No…you scamp…”

“Okay…” I grin. “What I was going to say, Gwen, since I’m able to be frank…the slavery thing sucks. It really does. If you really want humans to buy into your ideas of culture, your way of life, it would be better to co-opt them, include them in it, as subordinates maybe, but slaves? Aren’t slave cultures sort of obsolete? They went out with the Roman Legions… it just seems like there should be a better way, a way of being partners, not top and bottom, to use a term from s and m.” I swallow nervously, looking over at my Muhmis.

Her eyes look back thoughtfully, a slight frown on her face…she’s quiet for a moment, and then leans forward. “Erin, being frank while we’re alone like this is fine. I don’t want to hear of you talking like this anywhere else, hmm?” 

I nod. Oh, well…so I tried, I think, tiredly, and sit back, unconsciously moving back from her presence. She reaches out, tugs me closer by the lapel of my lounging robe. I whimper, subvocally.

“Shh…no need to be afraid, saafn mine. Listen. I know the slavery concept is hard for you to swallow, continuing that metaphor. But as you said, it’s life like that, or death. That’s the way our society is set up to run, and as far as being obsolete, it’s more advanced than your versions of capitalism or communism. It’s lasted longer, and with more threats. It works. Once you truly accept that…which you, being as stubborn as you are, may never completely do…it’s easier to live with it. Samothracian society is more fascist that we are, come to think of it. You’d not be any better off there, my girl; in fact, you personally would be in a, what’s your term—a heap of trouble?” Gwen caresses my face, tenderly, lingering her fingers on my lips.

“Erin…I know part of you accepts me as your owner, your Muhmis. I’ve felt that part growing, learning. There’s another side of you, though, that rejects me. I’ve felt that, too. That’s the side I worry about, although not as much as I used to. You’ve proven very loyal, personally, to me—and through me, to the Race. You’re my brooder now; that’s a position of honor, and deep trust. I want you to be able to talk with me like this, but always remember that it’s just between us, no one else. Clear?”

“Yes, Muhmis.” I nod, eyes on hers. “I try. I really do, and then something just wells up in me. It’s more of a yearning than anything else, like I’m thirsty for something. My concept of freedom, I guess. But even before you arrived, people here were slaves. They just weren’t called that. But for all intents and purposes, like in China, or in the nurseries and tobacco plantations here…they were. They were owned, and sometimes abused, by the people who worked them. So it’s sort of two-faced of me to complain, I guess. I don’t know—their lives are so much better now that you’re here, but the rest of us, I guess the middle and upper classes, have to learn a new way of life. It’s not easy. Can you imagine what it’s like? Can you even imagine being a serf, Gwen?”

“Good question. But why would I?”

“What if y’all open a mole hole and something bigger and badder than the biggest, baddest Draka pops out?”

“Then, sweet, we’ll be in a world of hurt. That’s a concern, too, by the way.” She tugs me closer, so that we’re mere inches apart. In a cold, quiet voice: “Do you want that to happen?”

“No! Godsakes, no—Muhmis.” I shake my head, and feel her hand on my chin tighten.

“Hmm…you don’t mind the Draka then, so much, with that as a possibility?”

“No…”

“Interesting talk, sweet—but it’s getting late. You’ve given me plenty to think about, and I can see I just gave you a thought or two, didn’t I?”

“Yes.”

She leans over, kissing me deeply. “Let’s take this conversation to bed, my pretty little pony. It’s getting late, and there’s work to be done tomorrow—as well as planning for the Naming Ceremony.” Gwen stands, and I take the robe from her, folding it neatly at the end of the bed. I sink down onto my heels, waiting her pleasure, and she smiles, reclining on the huge bed. “Come here to me, sweet saafn mine… serve me…”

**  
“I’d forgotten,” Erin says, wiping her breasts with the damp cloth. “Good thing I’ve got plenty.”

“Well, you do tend to… spill a little if you get really excited while you’re nursing,” I say, leaning back against the pillows at the head of the bed and lacing my fingers around one knee. “Let’s rest for a while and talk.”

“Mmmm.” 

Erin stretches and turns on her side to look at me, head propped on a hand. I’ve noticed over the years I’ve owned her how she’s become more comfortable with her body; that’s made her better at pleasuring, too. Amazing how it continues to improve with her; but then, the psychological aspects are really more important. I remember that time at Lake Tahoe, and how the simple feeling of her surrendering completely to what I was doing to her sent me wild…

“I’ve been thinking about what you said,” I say. “You’re quite right. We Draka are fixated on being on top.”

She grins at me. “Well, you can get on top of me anytime, Muhmis.”

I reach out and gently tweak her nose. “You are a scamp.” A little more seriously: “But you know, that’s the truth. I can do that anytime I want. And that fulfills… a very deep instinctual need in me. It’s hardwired.” I sigh. “You know, in a way, the real misunderstandings between a human and a drakensis are as likely to be caused by similarities as the differences. And the differences within the similarities.”

Erin is silent for a moment, thoughtful. “I think… I think I see something of what you mean,” she says. “Humans can be dominant, but it means something different with you?”

“Exactly,” I say. “My need for dominance would be pathological in a human, and it would probably be accompanied by hostility and sadism – crossed wiring, bad childhoods, that sort of thing. But I’m not made that way; I get aggressive when I meet resistance, but when I don’t, dominance is pretty closely linked to affection with me. The more you submit, the more I like you, the more I want to look after you, help you. Not that that’s the only reason I like you, of course; there are a dozen others, from your looks through your wits to your sense of fun… not to mention that lovely moaning sound you make just before –”

“Uhmmm.” Erin rolls onto her back and puts her hands behind her head, blushing fiercely. “You know, I’d thought something like that, but hadn’t spelled it out… what’s it like from the servus point of view?”

“Mirror image, more or less. You’ve probably noticed some of that with your pair. They’ve got a corresponding need to be dominated. It makes them feel good; warm, cared-for, loving. Allowing for personal differences, of course. Humans and Draka and servus are all too complicated to be instinct-machines.”

Erin makes a circular motion with one hand. “As if there’s a dominance to submission dial; you Draka are stuck with the needle to the right, the servus have it stuck to the left, and we humans are all over the dial – and we waver.”

I lean forward, crossing my legs and resting my elbows on my knees. “You know, that’s a very good metaphor. “ I pause for a moment, smiling at her. “To push it a little further, when a drakensis dominates a human in a close relationship, we – ” I make a gesture “—push the needle over. It’s never as complete or stable as a Draka-servus bond, but it can work. You humans are all a mixture of both. We bring out the submit side of your psyches, more than another human ever can. We were designed to do that. It’s… sort of an idealization of the way our Ancestors wanted to relate to their serfs, turned into physical fact.”

“Muhmis,” she says after a moment. “How do you… how do you feel about humans? Regard us, I mean.”

“I like humans as a species,” I say, tilting my head to one side. “You can be infuriating at times; beautiful; repulsive; wonderful; vicious; sweet… so varied. You’re a challenge, and that’s something else I can’t help responding to. You personally… you know, I can understand how finding you were mine felt to you. I don’t think any the less of you for choosing to accept my dominance and live, Erin my sweet. I couldn’t decide that; but that’s not because I’m any better than you, it’s just that my neurological wiring is different. I like owning you so much because I think well of you. It doesn’t have to diminish you; I want it to fulfill you, realize your potentials.”

“That is a strange way of looking at it,” she says. “What I said… how would you Draka react if someone as much ahead of you as you are of us came along?”

“We’d run if we could, fight until we were all dead if we couldn’t. Draka are incapable of surrender; and in the very long run, that may well be an evolutionary weakness. You, personally, probably ensured the survival of the human race on this world by surrendering and so getting me to listen to you… and given enough centuries, millennia, who knows what’ll happen? But death is forever.”

“Sure is,” she says. 

I nod. “There’s an old Norse poem… 

The lame can ride horseback  
The handless can tend herds  
The deaf are undaunted in war;  
Better to be blind than burnt on your pyre  
No deeds can a dead man do.

“Living means changing, though. God, I’ve gone through some changes, since I met you.”

“Mhhhmmm,” I agree, leaning over and kissing her. “Think about this, too. We’re going to be together for a long time if we’re lucky. Possibly two hundred years. I want that, Erin. I want to… get to the bottom of you; I want to know you right down to the root of yourself, and make every bit of it mine, and have you know me that well too. Because I feel very strongly for you; I positively hunger to possess you. I wouldn’t bother otherwise. It’s not exactly love as you humans use the word – that’s why I don’t use it, it wouldn’t be honest – but it can be an extremely intimate and intense relationship. And very happy for both of us.”

“Yeah,” she says, looking up at me. “That’s sort of… exciting and scary at the same time, you know?”

“I think I do,” I say tenderly. “I’m very glad that we’ve gotten far enough along that we can be honest with each other like this. Now that’s enough philosophy for tonight. Come here, Erin.”


	35. Chapter Thirty Five

Chapter 35

**  
“So, what’s it like to have a Draka baby, Erin? I’m kinda nervous, actually,” says Josie, her hands stroking her bulging tummy rhythmically.

I laugh, and sit down next to her. From the irresponsible-seeming girl she was when Tamarindus acquired her and her lover Devla, she’s matured and become friendlier over the last few months. “Oh, don’t worry. I’ve had both—a human baby and a drakensis, and the drakensis was the easiest. Or at least I thought so. Alice agrees, by the way…”

“How’s she doing?”

“Just fine. We’re calling the baby May, you know.” I lean back against the wooden bench, enjoying the mild spring warmth and the fluttering dogwood petals on the tree next to us.

“Oh, for the month?” Josie smiles.

“No—oh, hi, Devla,” I turn back to Josie. “No, May’s for my Mamaw. That’s her name. Alice wanted to do that and I couldn’t say no.”

“Your what?” Devla sits down next to Josie, an arm going around her shoulders. Her dark eyes look at me, narrowing.

“My mamaw—my grandmother.”

She guffaws. “So was there a pa-paw, too?”

I turn a bit red, but bite my tongue. She’s a damnyankee, after all. “Yes, Mamaw and Papaw basically raised me from childhood…”

“Mamaw and Papaw—how quaint. Where’re you from, anyhow? Corn Cob Holler?” Her dark hair moves in the breeze, and I feel my temper rising.

“Devla, stop it,” warns Josie, shifting uncomfortably between us.

“Listen, Devla, I don’t mind some good-natured kidding every now and then, but please don’t make fun of my grandparents. They were…very special to me, wonderful people…”

“Yeah, right. With all the inbreeding you hillbillies do, could they even read?”

I stand up, fists balling unconsciously. “Damn it, stop saying that shit…it’s not funny, Devla.”

She stands, as well, towering over me in her pressed khakis and white shirt. “Oh, so Jennifer Miss-I-Know-Money Feinberg can call you corn-pone, Shawonda can call you cracker, and uhmis Gwen can call you pretty pony, but I can’t make cracks about your ‘mamaw an’ papaw’ frum Korn Likker, Tennessee?”

“Stop it, stop it, please, both of you—god, we were just talking about her and Alice’s baby, Devie, come on, get off it…” Josie begs, tears in her eyes.

“I’m sick of miss country USA here…all her fake little witticisms, her sayings…I can call you whatever I want, whenever I want…”

“Listen, Jennifer can call me corn-pone because…she and I are close…” I begin.

Devla cuts me off. “Oh, I know how close you two are. Your owner likes threesomes, doesn’t she? I guess you’re just not good enough to satisfy her alone, huh?”

“You’re … Jennifer helped me through a really bad time. She earned the right, and gave me the right back, to call each other names, as friends. You don’t have that right. And what my Muhmis likes or dislikes, and how I please her, is none of your damn business, Devla. So drop it!”

“Oh, aren’t we touchy today. Whattsamatter? Didn’t get to ‘buck for Muhmis’ last night? Someone take your place?”

“Goddamn.” I turn on my heel and stalk off, fuming. I hear Josie’s voice raised in remonstrance, and Devla’s surly, growling response. My eyes are full of tears, both of anger and hurt. I was sharing a memory, dammit, and she stomped all over me, and the memory, too, I think angrily. Tears trickle down my face as I walk down the country lane, dappled sunlight and shade making waving patterns of light and darkness. I stop after a few minutes, catching my breath, but the anger still burns. The sweet smell of honeysuckle reaches me, and after a moment I spot the vine, and its flowers.

I walk through the ankle-deep grass, and pluck a few flowers, carefully pulling them apart and sucking the sweet juice from them. Papaw showed me how to do this, I think, when I was three or four. I remember. Rednecks…how dare she? They weren’t very educated, that’s true; Mamaw didn’t make it past the fifth grade, and Papaw didn’t graduate from high school either, but they were smart folks. Wise ones. They sure as hell saved my life, too; if I had had to stay with my parents, I probably would have either run off and gotten killed, or killed myself. They were Good People, in more ways than one.

Where’s Devla get off on the Muhmis thing, too? I wonder, plucking a few more flowers and walking on. She was more than happy to obey every whim of Gwen’s, the night Gwen took her and me, in New York, before the Project. I don’t ever make a big thing about being one of Gwen’s favorites with the other staff, and certainly not with other Draka’s human staff…why was she so angry about that? I don’t understand, I ruminate. I try so hard to be a friendly person, willing to listen, to problem solve, to be helpful, and this is what I get?

“Hiyo, Tantie-ma Erin!” Alexandra’s cheery voice pulls me from meditation, and I spot her sitting on the railing of the field across from me.

“Hey, yourself, punkin!” I cross over to her, and she hugs me. She smells of sun, childsweat and pine needles, several of which are poking out of her curly red hair. “Been rolling around in the woods, sweet?” I say, as I pluck some of the pine needles out.

“Yeah, Pat and Chiron and me were playin’…but then they went off, to go swimming, and I stayed to watch the hawks. See them, up there,” she points, nestling her head against my shoulder as she perches on the fence rail.

“Wow, yeah…they’re not turkey buzzards, they’re hawks, all right. Three or four, I think,” I say, raising my hand to shield my eyes from the sun’s glare. “Wonder what they’re after?”

“The workers just mowed that pasture over there, and I bet there are mice and snakes and stuff, don’t you?” Her bright, leaf-green eyes stare up at me, full of curiosity. She frowns then, looking closer at my face, and I turn away, conscious of the tear tracks.

She turns my face back to hers with a small, strong hand on my chin. “Tantie-ma Erin, why have you been crying? Did you fall down and hurt your knee, like I did the other day?” She glances down, looking for external damage.

If you’d be a human child, you would have broken your leg, if not your neck, I think silently to myself, remembering seeing the red-headed bundle drop down from the balcony, curling into a ball as she fell; remembering my heart leaping into my mouth, and the sick fear as she thudded into the ground, and the tears—hers of pain, and embarrassment, and mine, of relief and joy. “Silly girl, no—I wasn’t trying to walk around a balcony to see if I could go all the way…”

“Then why are you so sad?”

“It’s okay, really. It’s just from a tiff a serf and I had. Don’t worry about it. How about lunch? It’s almost that time, kiddo!”

“What’s a tiff? I am worried about you, Erin. I love you. Did another serf yell at you? I’ll hit them if they did, you better believe it,” she growls, her hair bristling.

“No, no…don’t do that. A tiff is like a little fight, one where you just have words, you know? It’s okay, really, Alexa. Don’t tell Mama, or anything. Let’s go eat lunch; I’ll be just fine in a few minutes. Come on, we can tell her about the hawks…” I hold my arms out, and she jumps into them, rocking me with her weight. “Umph! Can’t carry you for very long, now, missy!”

Alexandra looks into my face, gaze level. “Mama’ll know, Erin. You know she will. Tell me what happened, please?”

“Look…Devla just said some mean things about my grandparents, when I was trying to share a memory of them with Josie. I don’t know why Devla did that. It hurt my feelings pretty bad. That’s all.”

“About Mamaw and Papaw? You’ve told me about them. They sounded like nice people; I wish they were alive, so Mamaw could make me some of those biscuits you told me about…”

“Yeah.” I wish they were alive, too, kiddo, I think to myself. Looking down at her earnest face, I smile. “Yeah, I miss them a lot. They were very important to me. I was telling Josie that Alice and I are naming our baby May, after Mamaw.”

“Neato!”

I grin. “Yep, I thought so too. You know, Alexa, I wish I could take you to their cabin someday. We could go hiking in the woods, and look for buckeyes, and go swimming—I know a great swimming hole, and maybe we could even go whitewater rafting. Sound fun?”

“Oh, yeah—lots and lots! Let’s go! Let’s ask Mama! I bet she’d say yes! What are buckeyes? Are they from deer?”

“No,” I laugh, tickling her. “They’re seeds, from a tree. They look really cool, and they’re supposed to be good luck. You can’t eat them, though. Just carry one around for a charm. They’re fun to find, too.”

Her arms around my neck, she pulls me close to her face. “I love you, Tantie-ma Erin. A whole bunch, forever and ever.”

A lump forms in my throat, making it hard to talk for a moment. I stare into her eyes, seeing my reflection in them, the green matching the new fluttering leaves on the trees around us. “I love you, too, Alexandra Ingolfsson. Now and always. Remember that—a human loves you. Remember, even when you grow up…”

“I will,” she whispers, seriously. “I have perfect memory, you know.”

“I know,” I smile. She loosens her hold on me and wriggles to get down. I let her down, gently and she takes my hand.

“Now let’s go ask Mama about going to your grandparents’ cabin! I wonder if we can go today? It’s only lunchtime!”

“Um, well…we’ll ask Mama, and see what she says. If not today, maybe one day this week, before the big Naming Ceremony thing. We’ll see, okay? But I promise, one of these days, I’ll take you there, okay?”

“Yay!”

We walk down the graded dirt road, talking of all the things we’ll do when we go, and my heart lifts a bit. The anger’s still there, inside, and I hope to myself that I can hide it from Gwen’s perceptive eyes and nose. We approach the mansion from the back, and Alexandra leads me unerringly to where Gwen and Tamarindus sit, by a blooming rose trellis, in the shade of an oak.

“Welcome, girls! Come here, my heart,” Gwen calls, and Alexandra bolts into her arms, purring loudly. We all laugh, and I bow, first to Gwen, then to Tamarindus. Tamar waves me up from the position I’ve learned to assume, head down, hands crossed in front of me. She calmly points toward a small table, with a pitcher and some glasses.

“How about a refill, Erin, and some for Alexa? Some for yourself, too, of course,” she smiles fondly at me, and I blush. I walk over with lemonade drinks for everyone, and then sit at the foot of Gwen’s chair. She’s being regaled with stories of the great adventures we’ll have at Mamaw and Papaw’s cabin, and she’s grinning at the animated face of her clone daughter, listening.

“Yes, yes…sounds great. Can’t go today,” she finally manages to get in, and Alexa pouts. “Now, what have I told you about pouting? Hmm?”

“Sorry, Mama. I just want to go, a whole lot. Please?”

“That’s fine. We will go, I promise, but not today. Not enough time to get a good security net down there, for one. I’ll send a team off right now, and we’ll go down there and spend the day tomorrow. Sound like fun?”

Alexandra hugs her mother tightly around the neck. “Oh, yes, Mama, thanks a million! Did you hear, Erin? We can go, we can go! I can’t wait!” She claps her hands, truly excited.

“Yes, I heard—yay!” I cheer, from the grass. My heart aches with love for the little red head, Draka or no. Sweet kid, for sure, I think, grinning up at them. Gwen smiles back, a hand ruffling my hair. She gently puts her daughter down.

“Here, now—run along and get cleaned up for lunch. Ask Marie Claire to set some play clothes, some books and toys, and such, out for you and Patrick, for tomorrow, too. Can you remember all that?”

“Yes, Mama,” with a trace of exasperation. “I have a per—”

“Yes, I know. Perfect memory. Run along, sweetlin’. Thirty minutes to lunch, and don’t be late.”

The youngster scampers off, through the manicured gardens, giggling. Gwen turns back to me. “Now, wench, tell me what’s wrong.”

“Huh?”

“Tell me what’s got you upset, Erin.” Her face is serious, and Tamarindus sits up from her recliner, paying more attention now.

“Nothing…really. Just a tiff, between serfs, Muhmis…nothing serious,” I murmur, looking at the grass between my feet. A steel-strong hand grips the top of my head, turning it so I’m forced to face Gwen.

“Don’t you dare…I know you’re upset, and it’s more than some exchange…tell me, now.” Her voice has grown harder, and my heart quails. “You haven’t resisted me for a long time, Erin. Do you remember the penalty for being...obstinate? Or should I remind you?”

Whimpering subvocally, remembering the sting of Gwen’s hands on me, I shake my head no.

“Then answer me.”

“Muhmis, could I tell you tonight? You said this morning that you’d want me, tonight… I could tell you then, couldn’t I?”

Gwen and Tamarindus grin, both of them like a pair of wolves. Gwen shakes her head, and slowly tosses mine back and forth with a flick of her wrist. “No, Erin…you’ll be too…busy…tonight to tell me much of anything. Tell me now, or you’re going across my knee.”

I feel my pulse throb, fear trickling through me. “Um, it’s just…well, Devla and I had words. She hurt my feelings, and I walked away. Josie was upset, and for that, I apologize, Uhmis Tamarindus, Muhmis. I didn’t ever mean to upset her.” I tell them, briefly, what Devla had said about my grandparents. Their aristocratic, aquiline faces go quiet as I tell them, and I sense a thunderstorm building.

When I finish, I’m crying, softly, again. The pain and the hurt are still too fresh, and I don’t know why Devla had to be that way. “Mamaw and Papaw were so important to me, Muhmis…if it hadn’t been for them, I wouldn’t be here…and for her to say…to say…”

“Come here, sweetlin’…come on,” Gwen says, and picks me up, cradling me in her lap. Strong arms surround me, holding me to her, and I feel safe, somehow, even though those same arms can tear a human being apart, limb from limb. My sobs deepen, and I bury my head in the corner of her neck and shoulder. I’m embarrassed to be crying this way, in front of Tamarindus, but I can’t help it.

Tamarindus clears her throat, standing up and walking over to us. She places her hands on my shoulders, caressing. “I’m sorry, Gwen, that a serf of mine caused grief to a serf of yours, especially to our brooder. I’ll take some measures to ensure it doesn’t ever happen again, I promise you.” Leaning over, next to my ear, she whispers, “I’m sorry, little one. Please, please, don’t cry so hard. Devla will regret every word she uttered, believe me, when I’m through with her.”

My head snaps up. “Please, Uhmis Tamarindus, don’t beat her, please.”

“Ah, now…pretty girl. I’m not your Muhmis, you know. You can’t sweet talk me out of punishing a serf so easily,” she laughs, catching Gwen’s eye. “Devla’s been surly for several days now, and this is the icing on the cake. Now she’s going to enjoy the fruits of her labors, so to speak. No, you can’t talk me out of it, even if you really, really tried.” She pats me on the back, firmly, and I put my head down on Gwen’s shoulder again, tears trickling down my cheeks.

“I didn’t want to tell…”

Gwen strokes me. “We know, but it’s also important we know what’s upset you. You’re valuable to us, little ‘un. Our brooder. And I know you’re sometimes able to wheedle concessions out of me, about punishments for others—but not this time. Understand?”

I nod. Nothing I can do now, I think. Devla, you’re not going to have a fun afternoon. Oh, well.

Tamarindus looks up at the mansion for a moment, and then back to us. “It’s a nice day, why don’t we have lunch by the pool, Gwen? Say, an hour?”

“Fine with me. See you then…don’t tire yourself out, darling. We’ve some riding to do this afternoon, remember?” Gwen laughs at her friend and Tamarindus, chuckling, walks off.

Gwen turns back to me. “Ssssaaa, pretty girl, don’t cry any more. It’s not your fault; from what you say, and I know you well enough to know you told it the way it happened, you did as much as anyone could have to steer clear of the confrontation. You can’t lie to me, you know that. Yes?”

“Yes, Muhmis.”

“You came close to a spanking, though. No more hesitation, all right? Next time I ask you something, I expect an immediate answer. Hmm?” Her eyes bore into mine, and I nod mutely.

“I’m sorry, Gwen,” I whisper, wiping my face off. “I just hate telling on others. You know that, too, don’t you?”

“Yes, I do. But you’re going to have to get used to being a high status serf, Erin. You’re getting used to Yannan and Rosta, and Marie Claire and the others, but with serfs even of another Draka, you have to remember your place. What Devla did to you was doubly serious, since Tamarindus is subordinate to me. Her serfs are subordinate to mine, you and Alice, especially. You, in particular, since you bore our daughter. Understand?”

“Yes, Muhmis. Sorry.”

“Shh, nothing to be sorry about. Just learn. You’re a good learner, Erin. You just have to get accustomed to your status. Come on, let’s wash your pretty little face, and get ready for lunch. We’ve got an hour; I wonder what we can do?” She grins at me, hands probing, stroking, cupping. I stiffen and arch my back, gasping, grinning back.

“Why, Muhmis! The ideas you have…”  
**  
I lie watching the clouds; Erin is curled up with her head on my stomach, smiling faintly, the tension all out of her… and me, I think.

Idly, I key my transducer. Tamirindus lets me into the link; she’s in her room, and I can see Devla’s face, white and shaking. Just gotten through the dressing-down, apparently; now she’s stripping. Hmmm. More comely than I remember; not that she was bad at all. Still big-boned, but Tamar’s evidently got her on a proper exercise program. Maybe I’ll borrow her and ride that pony again. There was an interesting ambivalence to her when she realized how helpless she was the first time… like to see how that’s developed as she’s broken in to service. Tamar says she’s quite entertaining.

Tamirindus grips her by the chin. “You’re a valued, talented possession, Devla, but never, never think you’re above the rules. Next time you see Erin, you’ll apologize.”

“Yes, Muhmis.”

“You didn’t enjoy your last punishment, did you? At least not the first part.”

“Nnn.” A swallow. “No, Muhmis.”

“I’d hoped you wouldn’t need any more, but you’ve disappointed me. Can you resist me in any way, Devla?”

“No, Muhmis. I’m… I’m your saafn.”

“And a saafn makes their owner’s will their own. Remember that, and take this in the right spirit. I’m being indulgent. This could happen in public, for instance.”

“Yes, Muhmis. Thank you for bbb- being so patient with me.”

Tamar nods. “Come here.”

The human does, turning and bending over Tamar’s knee, movements slow and jerky, giving a gasp as she’s clamped helpless in her owner’s grip. The blows are a little harder and go on longer than I’d have done, but she’s Tamar’s chattel. And probably not so tender-hearted as Erin, I think. Harder-grained, and needs more emphatic breaking. She’s sobbing and the buttocks are cherry-red by the time her owner stops and lets her slide to the floor; she lies there for a moment and then crawls on her hands and knees to the bed, laying her upper torso over it and clenching her hands on the sheet. 

I drop out of link as Tamarindus kneels behind her and clamps her neck in one hand; and stretch, satisfied. But hungry…

“Wake up, sweetlin’,” I say.

Erin yawns, then returns my kiss. I stand and run my hands through my hair and shake out the bits of grass; she flicks them out of my clothes and dresses me. Chiron trots up, with Patrick on his back – already learning how to grip with his thighs. By human standards the child’s a natural athlete, and of course keeping up with Alexa means he’s getting plenty of exercise. He’s wearing only shorts, and looking brown and lithe and active – my heart warms at the sight of his blue eyes bright in the tanned face and the sunny smile; the sun’s left a few rusty highlights in his black hair. 

“Hi, Muhmis, mom,” he says, throwing a leg over Chiron’s withers and sliding down. The centaur gives an informal bow.

I can hear Patrick subvocalize as he watches his mother make the final adjustments to her clothes; more mushy stuff. I chuckle. Alexa knows what I do with my saafn when they serve my pleasure, of course; we’re not a shy people, and she’s just indifferent in the proper childish way – to her it’s one of the things adults do, and boring. I wonder what Erin’s told Patrick about it? I sweep Patrick’s sturdy four-year-old form up onto my shoulder. He gives a crowing whoop, and waves to Chiron as the centaur trots off. Chiron waves back, rearing up onto his hind legs for an instant, then galloping away in a spurt of gravel. He’s young too. It’s good to have children around the place and in my life; it makes me feel young again sometimes.

We walk up to the manor; Patrick wiggles with excitement as Erin and I tell him about the trip to her grandparent’s cabin. Tamar’s there already, and de Lange; I set Patrick down and take my place above the salt. He rushes off to the children’s table, where Alexa plunges into her own explanation of the trip. Devla’s down there with the other saafn at the foot of our table, but she’s kneeling on a cushion to eat – the result of her punishment, I think, and not part of it. Josie looks a bit concerned, and I smile at her; she’s carrying my child as well. After a while she answers it shyly; it’s hard for a brooder to feel upset for long.

The Draka at the head of the table discuss the news from the Prime Line for a while; the downloads from Earth/3 look fascinating, and Felice Vashon sitting on the Pope’s throne is hilarious. I’ve got an interview with the Space Force people this afternoon; Jennifer and Erin and I are going through some necessary but tedious material on their infrastructure and financing. We’re going to start from the bottom up, with locally built material, gradually modernizing as operations expand. 

The hybrid spaceships the human designers are coming up with are intriguing, like nothing the Prime Line ever built – fusion generators and momentum-transfer drives, but steel hulls and native electronics, only slightly improved. When you can lift tens of thousands of tons and accelerate it to Mars in five days and across the Solar System in a pair of weeks, such makeshifts work well enough. We’ll never have to build beanstalks here, which is a pity in a way; they’re very impressive. I still remember Erin’s face as we came up to the base of the one in Kenya, and she realized we’d be taking an elevator to orbit. She was plastered against the transparent wall of the capsule all the way up, and it’s an hour-long ride.

I’m going to have to do some serious thinking on how the Draka in charge will liaise with the human structure, I remind myself. Gaardson in overall command, I think. Hmmm… Projects to start with… well, haul a couple of the Apollo asteroids into Earth orbit for the minerals… a base on Mars… start planning for the terraforming…

“Thank you for that scheduling projection, Alice,” I say. “It’s not too early for you to get back into harness?”

The serf looks up from her omelet. “No, Muhmis, I’m coming along fine. Shawonda says I can get back to full activity this week, within reason.”

“Good,” I laugh. “Tonight you can show Erin and me how active.”

She laughs in return, blushing a little, eyes dancing. “If Ariadne and May don’t keep interrupting us,” she replies.

De Lange clears his throat a little later, when we’re down to the cake and coffee. “By the way, Archon, I was going to ask a small favor.”

“Oh?” I arch my brows. Not so small, if he’s reverting to titles.

“I was wondering if I could have title to Billy transferred to me.”

“Ah,” I say. “Well, Aristes, let’s see –”

More than just a passing fancy, then. I look down the table at the young buck; he’s blushing and hanging his head a little. Neither law nor custom makes his opinion of any importance, but there’s nothing that says I can’t ask, either.

“Billy? Would you like to belong to Uhmas de Lange? Come along, speak up.”

“Ah – yeah, ma’am, I mean Muhmis… Ummm…” he looks at de Lange. “Uhmas?” The buck looks ready to die of embarrassment; I chuckle kindly, and de Lange goes on:

“And his, ah, companion Jane. She works in the kitchens here.”

“Certainly – consider it a gift,” I say. 

Many transfers of saafn are, these days; the value of two ordinary humans like this isn’t worth bothering the accounting program with. I link to my transducer and transfer the ownership codes. Jane’s been hovering in the background; they both come forward to kneel and lay their heads on the Merarch’s foot, and then he rises to lead them off. They’re in for a strenuous after-lunch mounting, and looking forward to it, from the scents. Charming, I think. Such a pretty pair.

I sigh and toss my napkin on the table. “Well, let’s prep that meeting,” I say. “Duty calls.”

**  
“So why base it on military structure? Why not business-oriented? Or are you too much of a swabbie, still?” Jennifer looks over the sheaf of papers in front of her, glasses poised on the tip of her nose. I think she uses them as armor, sometimes, since Gwen’s offered, in fact almost insisted, we receive Draka medical care. She really doesn’t need them, I snort, and look back at her, steepling my hands.

“Because the military structure works in emergency situations as well as in peacetime, and that’s what the Space Force needs, dearie.”

“Don’t ‘dearie’ me, and please don’t try to impress me with your goyim church hands, either… I want a better answer, before I agree.”

I laugh, despite myself. “Oh, Granny Jenny, okay.” I put my hands down on the table, palms up. “I think the military structure will be more efficient, more effective, and more of what most of the personnel will be used to. There’ll be less training time to set it up, and run it. It basically runs itself, and it can repair itself, or replace damaged units with carbon copies—sort of a self-replicating thing. Those sound enough or better enough reasons for you?”

“Write them down, let me think about it. The military is known for its inefficiency, cost-wise, for its structure, its bureaucracy. I don’t want people meekly buying seven hundred dollar johns for our aircraft, that kind of thing. I want accountability.” She smiles, tapping the papers together neatly. “Write it up; those are good reasons, but I’d like some examples, something to chew on. Speaking of, how about lunch?”

“Sounds fine to me. I’ll have the report to you by this afternoon, okay? With numbers, and pretty pictures, and sounds, and…ow! Hey! Hey, I could get—ow—a serious paper cut or something if you keep whacking me!” I duck, covering my head in mock terror, as she beats me about the head and shoulders with her paperwork. We’re both still laughing when Alice, followed by Rosta and Yannan, come in.

“Some serious meeting you’ve got going. I thought this was supposed to be a planning meeting for Space Force, not World Wide Wrestling!” Alice chuckles, holding May, our daughter. Yannan is carrying Ariadne, and holds her out to me.

“She’s hungry, Sera Erin…”

I roll my eyes. “She’s always hungry. I swear, these Draka of ours…always hungry, or frisky…”

Alice and Jennifer laugh, and I see a sly smile on Rosta’s face. She immediately hides it when Yannan, his mouth hanging open in shock at what I’ve just said—irreligious of me, old boy, eh?—turns for support to his sister. She frowns slightly, and digs a toe into the carpet.

“Ah, Sera Erin…you really shouldn’t be so… disrespectful… I don’t think,” Yannan stutters, face crimson. His eyes flick from side to side in an unconscious check of his safety.

“Nah, I’m not being disrespectful. I’m not suicidal,” I laugh. The voice inside whispers, no, you haven’t been, for a while now—since Peter’s death…weakling you are… I wince, and change the subject, both internally and externally. “Since Missy Ariadne is hungry, and Jenny and I are, are y’all?”

Everyone agrees, and we troop down together to the patio outside, shaded by beautiful Japanese maples and dogwood. The dogwood’s in bloom, and bees buzz; birds hop around under the trees, making small rustling noises. I sit off to one side, on a marble bench, and feed Gwen and Tamar’s daughter, who certainly is hungry. When I’ve burped her, I rejoin the others, who are eating. Marie Claire appears from nowhere and whisks the babies, sleepy now, off to a nap for the afternoon. I’ll be glad when May sleeps through the night completely; Ariadne already does. A big feeding before bed, and she’s asleep, and growing, all through the night, I think, smiling. So big, already, and so pretty.

“Mmmh, this chicken Caesar salad is wonderful,” croons Alice. I don’t want to disappoint her, but I know it’s rabbit. I don’t tell her, though, letting her enjoy the meal. Mavis was telling me the other day she had some good rabbits for lunch, and this is Mr. Cotton-tail, all right. Jennifer has an odd expression on her face, and she finally leans over to me.

In a whisper, “Hey, Erin, corn-pone…this isn’t chicken, is it? What is it? You know, don’t you?”

“It’s Little Peter Cottontail, Jennifer, my girl, not Little Red Hen,” I whisper back, grinning.

“That’s a joke, Knaydl?”

“Nah. No joke, I talked with Mavis, and she said she’d serve some soon—” I wink, and Jenny looks down at her fork, frowning. “Don’t tell Alice, she’ll freak!”

“Gah! I might. Well, no—it’s not so bad. I wonder if it’s kosher?” She chuckles, rolling her eyes.

“Maybe they were Jewish rabbits…” I whisper in her ear, and she cracks up, laughing until the tears roll from her eyes.

“Hey, what’s all the whispering about? Not very polite, love,” admonishes Alice, finishing up her salad, and starting on some steaming gumbo the server just set down in front of her. She tastes it, closes her eyes for a moment, sighing, and then winks at me, wagging her finger back and forth. “Taught you better manners than that, didn’t I?”

“Huh?” I say, vacantly, staring out into space, mugging a vacuous look, picking my teeth. “What’re yew talkin’ bout, woman? Didn’t learn me no fancy manners…”

The humans around the table laugh, but Yannan and Rosta look at us, and then at each other, in puzzlement. “Sera Erin, are you, ah, …okay?” manages Rosta, eyes wide as she watches me.

“Oh, jeezie petes, guys, we’re just joking. I’m fine. Really. Not brain dead… pass some of that bread, please,” I continue, wiping my eyes and reaching for my spoon as the gumbo’s served to me. “Wow! This is spicier than last time—tell Mavis she’s hit the nail on the head, shore ‘nuff, Willie!”

Her son grins, and bobs his head. “That I will, ma’am. Not too spicy?”

“Mmmmmhhh. No. My lips aren’t blistering…much,” I kid him, and he pats me on the shoulder.

“If’n it gets too spicy, drink you some milk, hear?”

“Roger wilco!” I dig in, listening to Jennifer, working on a pastrami sandwich, tell Alice about the financial plans she’s making with her World Finance Committee, and how funny Alan Greenspan is when you get him going. Odd, I never thought he’d be a funny kinda guy, but from what Jenny says, he’s hilarious. 

Lunch passes quickly, and then it’s back to work, as I head off to my office. I have to write out detailed reasons, I think, logical ones, of why the military style chain of command would be better for Space Force than some mushy business thing…they better be good reasons, too, or Her Royal Majesty Jenny will let me know, in no uncertain terms. She’s a good friend, though—loyal, trustworthy…. Funny, too; we started out bristling at each other. But she sure as hell got me through a bad time…I owe her one, that’s for sure, I muse, as I tell the computer what I want in the document. The afternoon flies by, as I become absorbed in my work.


	36. Chapter Thirty Six

Chapter 36

**

“Yes, it’s our equivalent of a christening,” I say to the news reporters. Diane is nodding in the background, tapping her wrist to show that the interview is nearly over. “That’s really quite a clever comparison.”

I hold up a hand. “The new child – in this case, two – is presented to the Race, and welcomed with gifts.” I smile. “It’s also an excuse for socializing, of course. The custom’s about six hundred years old on the Prime Time.”

With that I nod, and the CNN reporters back away, whispering into their throat-mikes. This isn’t a live broadcast, of course; Dianne will go over it to filter out anything not suitable for release to the human media, although they’ve gotten a little more inured to Draka ways.

The terrace and lawns behind the house are almost thronged, lit by the glow globes on their alabaster pillars and little float lights that wander through the bushes and trees, like giant fireflies in a rainbow of colors. Music is coming from a group on the white bandstand, and the windows of the manor glow bright. There are more lights in the sky – a full weapons platform circling at a thousand feet, its scanners raking the area with a brute force that the most elaborate stealthing couldn’t foil. There are also a battalion of World Constabulary troops and a company of ghouloons raking the area around the manor and village. 

The whole scene would have a fairyland dimness to human eyes. The air smells of food, cut grass from the lawns, and the rare and peculiar scent of massed Draka. There are over a hundred guests here tonight, all the more prominent of the Race on Earth/2 and a few from the Prime Line, as well – even an aide to the Planetary Archon of Cygnus Five. That was one of the first interstellar colonies, and she has an alien saafn in tow as well as her servus – the ex-tee looking something like a bipedal porcupine with eyes on stalks and four arms. That draws the CNN crew…

Dianne comes over, a little flushed and breathless, still patting her hair into place. “Sorry I was late getting them to you,” she says, a little breathless. “I ran into Strategos Uhmas Gunnar and, ah…”

“He mounted you, yes,” I smile, taking her scent, his rut is clearly marked; not to mention some grass stains on her shoulder blades, which the low-cut gown reveals. It’s a festive occasion, after all, and she’s not on my hands-off list. “Pleasant for you, I hope? Turn around.” 

I brush them off with a handkerchief, and she replies over her shoulder.

“Very, Muhmis. Wild, though. Sort of like being caught by a horny lion and dragged behind a bush. Do you want to review the CNN feed later tonight, or tomorrow?”

“Early tomorrow; I had a nap after lunch and I’m not planning on sleeping tonight. Run along and enjoy yourself, and keep an eye on them.” They are temporarily on the don’t-touch list. There will be enough rumors about tonight without having them selling the story of ‘Draka Love’ to the tabloids.

I walk over to Ariadne’s gift table; there are some really pretty things there. A Muramachi sword from the East Asian Harmost; he’s got his HQ in Osaka. A jade Buddha from one of his subordinates; a blanket of white ermine; a Michelangelo painting… There was an absolutely enchanting little Shetland colt, but it’s down in the stables, with Sam and George settling it in; by the time Ariadne’s ready for a first pony, it’ll be perfect. And we presented May to Ariadne as well, but that’s ceremonial; they’re both up in the nursery. Ariadne was quite good about being cooed over, though; just kept feeding, looked at all the people with mild wonder, and went to sleep. Alexis sent along two genegeneered Persian cats, both of which had nothing to say beyond: ‘give us cream’, ‘we sleep’ and, when presented with Ariadne, ‘a kitten’; they’re on pillows near her crib.

I look up. Alice, Erin and the four-year-olds are coming up from the stables themselves. Combining this with a Naming Feast for Alexa was a good idea, I think. For that matter, she’s getting a lot more fun out of it than the usual infant; ponies for her, for example, and she immediately presented one to Patrick. And she got a very nice little saafn girl her own age from Tamarindus; it was charming to watch her coax the child into relaxing and enjoying the party – the ponies were the clinching argument. No parents to worry about; the local human authorities had already taken her away from them. Neglect, I believe… humans.

“Hi, momma,” my clone-daughter says. “I’m going to take Victoria upstairs – Pat and I are going to show her the playroom and stuff.”

“Yeah, and that cool new game!” Pat chimes in. 

The children all smell rather strongly of Shetland, and when the sugar-rush wears off they’re all going to be sleepy, too. The game’s the latest holography from some human company… dungeons and dragons, I think they call it; local imagery and Domination tech. Suitably toned down for children, of course; the adult version was gory even by our standards.

“Have a good time,” I say, and crouch down to put my head on a level with the little saafn’s. “Are you having fun, Vicki?”

“Yeah,” she whispers, looking down and scuffing one small shoe across the other. “Yeah, Muhmis.” She’s about the color of milk-chocolate, with soft loose-curled black ringlets and huge soft-brown eyes. My pheromones are at comfort-approval right now anyway, and I let them increase as I give her a gentle hug.

“Can I really stay here?” she says into my ear, her voice soft with the local accent. “Really?”

“Surely, sugar,” I say. “You can stay here forever, and play with missy Alexa and Patrick. Will you like that?”

“Yes,” she says, whispering again, then turns and hides her face in Alice’s flank. 

I offer a hand, and we troupe upstairs to where Marie-Claire and her assistants are waiting. “I’ll stay with them, if that’s all right,” Alice says.

“Surely. Probably better to keep them up here; it’s not really a children’s affair,” I say. Alexa is already showing Vicki around, ably assisted by Patrick.

I go back outside, circulating, chatting. There are an interesting number of pregnant brooders along with their owners; the open frontier here is evidently bringing out our reproductive impulses. Erin gets shanghaied by a group of half-a-dozen of them, and they take her away for an experiences-and-advice session, sitting in a clump on some benches over by the end of the terrace. 

“Going well,” I murmur to Tom. This time I have put the humans in Prime Line style tunics, and he and Jennifer both look rather fetching in them, with my colors on their chests – in a circle surrounding the mailed fist of an Archon, superimposed against the globe of Earth/2.

“I must say, you Overlords have style,” he says. His eyes stray to a Draka who’s laughing, head thrown back, his golden mane bright against the black silk, silver and leather of his clothes.

“I’ve never seen so many in one place,” Jennifer says, sipping at some champagne. “The logistics… gevalt.”

I nod. Gunnar’s Winona helped, recruiting sixty or so volunteers from among friends of her friends in Hollywood; mixing with the Draka is evidently the fashion there, even if it means carrying a tray of drinks. Tom came through with more, mostly young males. A fair number of both groups are going to end up personal saafn in various Households, but they were warned about that… since Winona’s interview in Rolling Stone, it’s regarded as quite chic in some circles to be claimed, although I don’t think the full implications have sunk in. Quite how permanent it is, for instance.

“Speaking of style,” Jennifer murmurs. Another Draka is striding into the house, a serving wench in her arms, excitement and terror on her face.

“Feel like being carried off?” I chuckle to the New Yorker, and slide a hand up the back of her thigh.

“Any time… but I was remembering where I saw that girl before, in a movie. Eeek! Muhmis!” . I’m feeling mellow tonight, and playful. And tight-skinned with energy at the same time; the combined scents of so many Draka… a human would say there’s electricity in the air.

“She’s an attractive wench,” I say, and give her another tweak before running my hand up to rest on her back.

“Well, yes. I’ve been… ah… noticing that more lately.”

“I told you about that.”

“Yeah, but it’s different to experience. Erin’s still over there with the Bootie Brigade, I see.”

“They’re all humans – no traditions to guide them in how to act as brooders,” I say kindly.

**  
I finally disengage myself from the Mothers-to-be Inquisition Gang, and go through the buffet line. Thank all the gods; I’m starving, I think wryly. I pick out home-cured ham, grilled mahi, and a fresh salad, and wander over to where Jennifer’s sitting, glass of champagne firmly in hand, watching the crowd. “This spot taken, madam?”

“No, please—” a gesture, wider than is usual for her. She grins, too; her eyes are a little wild, but she seems composed enough. “Join me, Erin.”

“Thanks. Say, have you eaten much of anything, or just fermented bubbly grapes?” I try some of the ham, closing my eyes in delight at how tender it is. “You could have some of mine… um, well, maybe you don’t want ham, but the mahi’s great.”

“Hmmm…ham, schmam, give me some. Hey, this’s good,” she crows. She offers me her champagne glass in return. “Try some of this, girlie-girl.”

I take a sip and hand it back. “The bubbles always want to tickle my nose…can’t drink much, or Old Eagle-Eye will fuss. Still nursing, y’know.”

“Ach, what a drag. Oh, well. More for me,” Jennifer laughs, running a hand through her dark brown locks. She spears a piece of mahi from my china plate, and giggles again.

“What’s so funny?”

She leans over and whispers, “You know, I don’t know. Maybe it’s just being in the lion’s den.”

“Damn right. I am so very thankful Muhmis put those ‘hands off’ codes on our transducers. But some folks, Diane, for instance, seem to be enjoying being the, um, springboks on the game preserve, so to speak. There she goes again, with that couple over there.”

“Gawd. Gwen said she had to brush grass off her back earlier. That Yves St. Laurent gown won’t be worth shit tomorrow, that’s for sure…”

We both laugh, but my eyes narrow a bit in concern as Jennifer snags another tall beaker of bubbly from a passing waiter. About half of it’s gone by the time I finish my salad. “Hey, let’s go hit the dessert table, old girl,” I suggest.

“Hmm…okay. Lead on, corn-pone,” Jenny replies, sipping again.

We wander over to the heavily laden dessert table, full of all sorts of delights. These Draka certainly like their sweets, I think to myself in amusement. I help two youngsters, maybe five and six years old, young Draka, carry their plates over to a table, where harassed-looking servus wenches are trying to maintain some sort of order. One thanks me briefly, and then turns back, her eyes widening. “Oh, Sera Kane, I’m sorry—meant no insult, truly—thank you…”

“You’re busy—you’ve certainly got your hands full, that’s for sure. Good luck!” I grin at her and walk back to the table, where Jennifer’s waiting, mouth busy with some tiramisu.

“Mmmpphh…God above, try this—it’s divine, I swear,” she mumbles, offering me a piece. I try some, and it seems to melt in my mouth like… I don’t know, I muse; it’s almost better than sex. Jeezie petes! I eat another piece, then stop when I realize three would be chocolate death. What a way to go, though, I laugh silently to myself. I pick out some fruit, and some key lime pie, and then carry both my plate and Jennifer’s back to our spot. 

“Hey, that’s a new glass you’ve started, girlfriend. How much have you had, anyway?” I josh her as we sit down. She’s a bit wobbly now; I’ve never seen her like this.

“Um, oh, two or three.”

“Like, it’s at least three; probably more like six.”

She turns to me, her eyes flashing. “What are you, my mother? God forbid. Drop it, okay? I’m fine, just fine.”

“Ooow…touchy, touchy. Okay. Consider it dropped. Want a slice of orange?”

“No.”

“Oh, come on, Broadway, don’t be a schmuck. You love oranges. Come on, have some?”

“No. Well…maybe one slice. Thanks.”

After she eats the orange, she seems happier. We watch the crowd from our vantage point, amazed at the beauty of the Draka, and even at some of our human folk. “Say, do we walk around with that goofy look on our face, like what’s-his-name over there?”

“Oy, vey—that’s Brad, um, what’s his last name? He is the handsome devil, isn’t he?”

“Yeah. I guess,” I laugh, poking her in the ribs. “Pull back the horses, Ma, the wagon’s goin’ too fast… yeah, that is him. Haven’t seen any of his movies, though.”

“You haven’t?? Oh, well, I guess you wouldn’t…” she replies, blushing. “Well, for the first few weeks or so, we probably did look like he looks now, all flushed and what’d you say—goofy?”

“Yeah. Goofy,” I answer, my arm around her shoulders. “You know, I do notice guys. They just don’t trip my interest meter much.”

“Peter must have,” Jennifer starts, and then covers her mouth, eyes instantly contrite. “Oh, Erin, what’d I say? Hell, I’m sorry.”

“Um…” I look away, and regret stiffening the way I just did; she must have felt it through my arm. “It’s…okay. You’re probably more right than you know.”

“Oh, I’m sorry. Please, please…I didn’t mean to…”

“Hey, no sweat. It’s okay, kiddo. Really. Gee, maybe that couple dragged Diane off into the bushes for good. Haven’t seen her since dinner, now…will she emerge in the morning?”

“Will she be able to walk in the morning?” Jennifer quips, and we both laugh. She slinks an arm around my waist, squeezing gently.

“How about we amble on up to the nursery? I have this funny feeling someone’s hungry,” I ask her, and she nods. “Come on. We can leave the plates here, or take them back to the table…”

“Leave them here, and don’t, please, feel guilty about it. There are people here to pick up after us. Come on, let’s go see the babies, Erin.”

“Uh…well, okay. Just shouldn’t leave china sitting in the grass…”Jennifer tugs impatiently at my arm, though, so I leave our plates behind. She’s still got her champagne glass firmly in hand, though.

We weave through the crowd, occasionally stopping to bow low to Draka in our pathway, and finally reach the house. “Man, it’s like…there’s electricity or something in the air, you know?”

“Yeah. Like I said, the lion’s den, and we’re dinner,” Jennifer whispers. She shudders, and I realize why she’s been snarking down the champagne. She’s terrified, I think. More than I am, I guess. Or is it that I trust the Draka more—to know that they aren’t going to test Muhmis’ will where we’re concerned?

“Someone else wants dinner, or my clocks are off,” I joke, looking down at my chest significantly. She catches the joke, and smiles, the fear retreating from her eyes. “You know, if we take the gallery route, we’ll actually be taking a short cut, and avoiding the…lions, as it were. Come on, Miz Feinberg, time to see the art show. You can be the critic for the New York Times, and I’ll be…”

“The critic for the Corn Holler Daily News…” Jennifer laughs, as we walk through the lower levels of the house, arm in arm. Even in here, it seems crowded; the air has a feel to it, like a lowering sky before a thunderstorm. It makes me want to run for the cellar, I think; either that or go out on the roof and pretend I’m a lightning rod…

Gwen’s gallery is lit faintly, spots under various completed paintings the only light. Shadows obscure the unfinished ones. We walk in, chatting gaily, and don’t notice the threesome until it’s too late to retreat. “Oh, shit, Jenny,” I mumble, as my transducer recognizes the two Draka and prompts me for protocol.

“Huh?” Jennifer wobbles, looking at me oddly as I sink to my knees.

I tug her arm sharply, whispering, “Do as I do, silly, quick!”

“Oh.” She clumsily bends down, getting on her knees, making the usual submission posture, eventually. She does remember to set the champagne glass down next to her, though. I lean further down, my forehead touching the floor.

“Down here, Jenny—please. Quick. Listen to your transducer, girl…” I whisper from the corner of my mouth, and she startles, eyes widening.

“Oh, gawd…” Her forehead’s on the floor, like mine is, and she’s trembling. I’m not doing so badly in that arena, myself, I think, and shut my eyes, trying to focus on calm.

Gwen and Alexis walk over, smooth, panther-graceful. A young man follows the Archon, at a respectful distance. Andri, I wonder. The famed favorite?

“Ssssaa, my wenches…an interest in art tonight?” Gwen’s voice is mellow, calming. I feel a wash of gentleness, tempered by a certain tension, from her, and wonder at it.

“Archon, these are two of my own, personal saafn. Jennifer, with the dark hair; Erin, with the light. Both have proved themselves quite…valuable to me. And the Race.” Gwen turns to the Draka beside her, smiling.

“Hm. Brooder, that one?”

“Yes. Ariadne’s. Patrick, Alexandra’s saafn, is from her, as well.”

“Ah yes, that fine-looking human boy. Impressive. Is Jennifer a bedwench?”

“Oho, more than that, although both are excellent mounts. Jennifer’s been handling the world financial situation, quite ably, I might add. She’s really held things under control; very impressive. Bright, eager for knowledge. Both are quite creative, too. Erin, in addition to being one of my brooders, has been doing technical work for me. She’s now heading the human portion of Space Force, the planning committee.”

“Hmm, impressive indeed. You always had such good taste in serfs, Grandmother.”

“Thanks, Alexis. You don’t do too badly in that field, yourself. Look at Andri, here.” The serf bows toward her, at the mention of his name.

I feel a booted foot tap me on the top of the head. “Up, wench, let me look at you.” Alexis’ voice is cool, and I feel chilled inside. Gwen holds the power of life or death over us, but this guy—he could vaporize me in an instant, with a thought. I sit up on my haunches, still looking down, hands folded in my lap. Goosebumps rise, and I feel distinctly woozy.

“Well trained. Look here, wench,” he says, a finger tipping my jaw up. My eyes meet his for an instant, and I look away. His hawk-faced beauty, hard-edged and terrible, thrills part of me, but the rest of me says run for the hills. He chuckles, and turns my head, looking at my profile. “Yes, I can see where the boy…ah, Patrick, got his lines. You wouldn’t like to sell this one, would you, Grandmother?”

Oh, jeezie petes, please please no no no…not to him, oh gods above…I may faint, god help me… I can get used to Tamarindus, even Gunnar, but oh, lordy, not him… my thoughts race as I shiver uncontrollably, but I am so careful, so very careful, not to subvocalize. I try to keep my face as masklike as possible, but know I’ve gone ashen.

“No. Neither of these, actually. They’re mine… I enjoy them too much, and they’re quite useful for what we need to do here, Alexis. I do have some others you might find intriguing; perhaps I could show them to you later tonight?” Gwen walks closer to me, and I feel her presence like a candle in the dark.

“Well… that sounds fun. Yes, we’ll do that. Meantime, I’m feeling rather peckish. Andri, let’s go on down to that buffet; get me some of those delicious lobster tails, and you can feed them to me, hmm?” His finger leaves my chin, and I let my head sink down, eyes on the floor. Relief floods through me like a raging Mississippi, and I sigh, softly.

Alexis turns to Gwen and grasps her forearm with his hand; she returns the gesture. “We’re understood, then, Planetary Archon?”

“Yes. Understood, Archon. Service to the State!” Gwen says calmly.

“Glory to the Race. And thanks, Grandmother…” Alexis releases her arm, slowly. “You know, I always loved it when you’d show me your paintings, when I was a boy. They fascinated me… how daubs of color could tell stories of our glory, our dreams…”

“Yes, those were good times with you, my grandson. I was always happy to share them with you. And you have no mean talent in writing, yourself. I wish I could do that as well,” Gwen says, softly, gently.

“Ah, well… Andri, dinner. Later, Gwen—we’ll talk more, while I’m here.” He leaves the gallery with his servus in tow. 

Jennifer’s trembling visibly. Gwen walks over to her, and taps her on the head. “Sit up, now, silly wench. What’s wrong?”

“Hic,” Jenny says, sitting up, and covers her mouth with horror. “I mean… um… Muhmis…”

“Both of you can get up now. Erin, that was good thinking, pulling Jenny down like that. You think quickly, which saved the situation from being… uncomfortable. Thank you.” Gwen helps Jennifer stand, inhaling a little. “And you, my sweet, are drunk.”

“Jus’ a little, Muhmis…I’m sorry, so sorry…” She hangs her head, and I can see her shoulders shake. My heart aches for her; hell, if I could have, I’d have been going glass for glass with her.

“Muhmis?” I pause, and Gwen, smiling, looks over at me. “Um, we were on our way to the nursery. I thought a walk would be good for both of us. This is a shortcut to the babies’ room… like most shortcuts, it turned into a longer one. I apologize for us walking in on y’all. Truly, we didn’t mean to.”

“That’s fine, Erin. And you didn’t think for an instant that I’d sell you to Alexis, did you? Seriously?”

“Well…” I look down. “Needs must, as you say…I didn’t know if I’d be traded for some concession or something…I was terrified, Muhmis.”

Still holding Jenny in one steel-strong arm, she crosses to me. Holding out her other arm, she welcomes me to her warm embrace. “Now, now, my sweet pretty-girl… I wouldn’t sell you for anything. I don’t sell my personal saafn, not to anyone. I may lend them, but usually expect them back. Dolores was more of a gift, to Tamar. That in itself is extremely unusual for me; Tamarindus knows that, and values Dolores proportionately. But you? Never. You’re mine, till the day you die.” She hugs me, leaning down and kissing my forehead.

I relax into her warmth, her scent, and shudder once more. “I was so scared of him. It wasn’t just the fact he’s Archon, either. Jeezie petes…”

“Shhh, it’s all right now. My sweet, why don’t you drop Jenny off in her room, check on the babies, and then meet me back here?” 

“Your will, Muhmis,” I answer, smiling, looking up at her. Jennifer sniffles, guiltily, and Gwen chuckles.

“Ah, Jenny… never seen you like this. It’s all right, I understand. I’ve had you working so hard, with so little time off. This is a special evening, by all means, so don’t be upset,” Gwen tilts the young woman’s head back, letting Jenny’s hair fall from her face. Their eyes meet, and then Muhmis kisses her, long and hard. “Go to bed. I’ll see you in the morning some time.”

“Yes, Muhmis.” Jennifer blushes furiously, and returns the kiss, with interest. Gwen slaps her lightly on the fanny, and hands her over to me.

**  
“Okay, Tiger, we’re home…let me help you take off those heels you insisted weren’t hurting your feet, now,” I say, depositing Jennifer gently into a chair. She mumbles something, and brushes the hair out of her eyes. I loosen the straps of each shoe, easing her feet out of them and massaging them slowly. A long sigh, and I look up to see her smiling down at me. “Feel better?”

“Oh, yes. Yes, ever so much better, Erin.” She leans forward. “Let me show you how much better, my sweet,” and kisses me, full on the mouth, her tongue teasing me. My eyes must look like a deer’s in the headlights, I think to myself—gods, but she’s a good kisser…but she’s too dopey, tonight, damn it.

I break off the kiss, breathlessly, and stroke her face. Her hands begin to caress my tunic, circling the globe with its Archonal fist centered on it. “Hmmm, Erin…come on, let’s get more comfy…”

“I have an idea,” I whisper, suddenly remembering an old dodge Peter told me about. This better work, you old queen, I think to myself and to his memory. “Why don’t you go get in bed, all comfy, and well, you know, get…ready for me? I have to make a visit to the little girl’s room, first.”

“Aw, do you have to?” She tries to kiss me again, and misses. Reflexes ain’t what they used to be, darling, after all that bubbly. I nod, cupping her face in my hands.

“Yes. Go get nice and ready for me…you’ll really like it this way, I promise. It’s what you need right now, isn’t it?”

She arches her back. “Yesss…”

“Fine. I’ll be out in a New York minute.” I watch her wobble to the bed, stripping as she goes, doing a bit of a clumsy burlesque for my benefit, and then I slip into the bathroom, turning the faucets on. Ten minutes later, by my watch, I emerge.

Jennifer’s fast asleep, spread-eagled on the bed, hair tousled. Naked as the day she was born, I think, smiling, as I gently, softly cover her up with a warm quilt. These spring nights can get chilly around here. Don’t want anything getting too cold. If she hadn’t been drunk… but there’s always next time. I wonder what she’ll remember from tonight? I wander over to her desk, and scribble out a note on a piece of paper—“Thanks, my chachem—you showed me some moves I’ve never dreamed of. Let’s have a repeat performance, soon—your friendly lover, E.” That ought to give her something to think about, beyond the fact that I’m actually picking up some Yiddish lingo from all she drops in her talks with me, I chuckle.

Leaving the apartment, I turn down the lights and shut the door silently. No need to lock it, here in the Household. No thief in their right mind would try the place, and a crazy thief would be a very dead one indeed if he or she tried it. Walking quickly down the hallways, I go down to the nursery. The sight that greets me sets me laughing, quietly.

In a pile, Alexandra, Patrick and Vicki are snoring, small child-snores of absolute sleepiness. They apparently fell asleep in mid-tussle, and no one’s separated them yet. I look further inside, and find May asleep in Marie Claire’s lap; the two are in one of the rocking chairs, and Marie Claire’s head is hanging down. A slight snore reaches my ears, and I relax. They’re all out to the world, I think. A little yelp tugs my head around to one of the cribs, where Ariadne is waving chubby little fists in the air. Another squeak escapes her, as her eyes, much more acute than a human infant’s of that age, spot me. “Bu-bu-bu-buh,” she whimpers, puckering her lips.

“Bu-bu-buh, indeed, my little kitten. Come here, shhh, don’t wake the other sleeping monsters…” I tenderly pick her up. “Whew. I’d be saying something too, did I smell like you. Man, what’d you eat? Oh, yeah. Me. Well… hang on a sec, old girl. Let’s get you decent, and then dosed.”

I put her up on the changing table, and quickly change the diaper. It’s one of my least favorite things to do with a baby, but needs must, I grin to myself. Wiped, powdered, and redressed in a lovely new crinkly diaper—“The latest style from Paris, my dear, how lovely,” I whisper against her tummy—I take the baby to one of the other rockers, and feed her. God, it feels good. I was about to bust, darlin’…and I bet you were starving. Poor little kitt—

“Milk? Kitten?”

“Gah!” I jump, and curse silently. Ariadne’s eyes have gone big, and she’s thinking quite seriously of letting me know exactly how healthy those little Draka lungs are. One of the new genengineered Persians sits next to us on a bureau, and I swear it’s smiling, smugly. I coo to the baby, making silly faces, and strike upon a combination of words she thinks is hilarious: “Bring us a shrubbery!”

“Cream?”

“Ah, no…don’t have any, sorry. I’ll bring you some, though, if you’re hungry.” Great, I’m talking to a cat, I think to myself. Peter would have a cow if he saw us sitting here like this. The cat stretches and purrs loudly, crossing the countertop to rub its head against my pro-offered hand.

“Soon? Hungry.” Its cream white head turns suddenly to the window. “Bird! Bird! Mmrrreeoow, good. Catch, crunchy…mmmrrrr…good!” The cat leaps into the window, staring intently at some birds outside. It must be some damn late night birds, I think; but then again, with all the goings-on in the bushes and what-not, I bet some birdies are having to temporarily relocate. I chuckle softly, and Ariadne looks up at me, a smile on her tiny face.

I put her on my shoulder and after a few pats am rewarded with a thunderous belch. “Good lord, woman, still got the boiler in the engine room? Everything still where it ought to be?” I look her over, and she pokes a fist into my mouth, tiny, already steel-strong fingers probing for my teeth. I nip her, ever so gently, and her eyes widen. She peers up at me, looking at my mouth and then my eyes. I give her hand a kiss, and she giggles. Her eyes are growing soooo heavy, I think, and sure enough, she closes them, and nods. I rock her in my arms for a few minutes, feeling sleep make her relax completely. I finally put her to bed in her crib, and squat down next to the side of Marie Claire’s chair.

“Honey?” I tug gently at her sleeve. “Marie Claire?”

“Hmmph—oh. Oh! Mon Dieu! Madame—I mean, Sera Erin—I was just nodding, I really was—”

“Shhh…it’s okay. You’ve been asleep since before I got here, and I’ve been here a good twenty minutes. It’s okay, really, sugar. You just should put May to bed, and stretch out on the cot. Go on, cover up—I’ll tuck the threesome in. It’s okay,” I laugh, and then surprise myself, and Marie Claire, by giving her a gentle kiss on her forehead. She blushes, under her dark-hued skin, and I chuckle. Going over to the pile o’sleepin’ tots, I disengage Alexandra, since she’s on the top. Of course, I think; she’s a Draka. I put her to bed without waking her. Then Pat, who murmurs “Mama, le’s go play…” as I tuck him in.

“Surely will, darlin’, when it’s sunny out. Now it’s sleepy time. Good night, my heart.” I kiss him tenderly, smoothing the thick black hair from his tanned face. I guess he does look like me, I think, remembering what the Archon had said. But he’s got Peter’s grace, his agility, and hair. Ah, god. Peter, you should see how beautiful your son is. I banish those thoughts from my mind as I tuck the limp form of Vicki in bed next to Alexandra. Checking to make sure everyone’s tucked in, even Marie Claire, who smiles up at me with a new light in her eyes, I whisper good night and close the nursery door.

**  
“Took you awhile…did you enjoy Jennifer?” Gwen’s voice comes out of the darkness, and I jump. Man, if it’s not the cats, it’s the cat people, I think crossly. The gallery is pitch dark to my eyes.

“Where are you, Muhmis?”

“Oh, yes…I forget sometimes. I’m over here, follow my voice, darlin’. Watch out for the col—”

Thud. “Shit. Ow. Sorry, Muhmis. Wouldn’t lights be more fun?”

“No.” A steel-strong, long-fingered hand reaches out and plucks me to my feet. “Are you hurt, Erin? I’m sorry, I thought at least you’d see the column, or remember where it was…” An unrepentant chuckle.

“I’m okay. My dignity’s down for the count, and I may have a Corinthian shaped bruise tomorrow. That’ll bring interesting observations, I’m sure, from the Breakfast Club.” I laugh, too, as she hugs me to her. The warmth of her body floods over me; the soft, off-the-shoulder Grecian gown she’s wearing is softer than her usual walking blacks, and I snuggle against her.

“And no, I didn’t… enjoy… Jennifer,” I smile up at her face, now that I can dimly see it. I tell her of the trick Peter taught me, and she laughs, long and low, especially about the note. She feels so good, I think; the terror I felt with Alexis touching me isn’t here… that reminds me. “What were you all talking about, or may I ask? I guess I should have asked if I could ask, first, huh?”

“Sssaaa—my scamp. Always thinking. Or almost always… I know a few times when the higher functions have taken a break…” Her lips on mine; the pulse throbbing in my throat—I feel like I’m high or slightly buzzed, and wrap my arms around her neck. She easily pulls me up, one arm holding me to her, while the other explores. I gasp, and moan softly…her tongue thrusts into my ear, tickling. I feel us walking for a moment; my feet are off the floor. We sit down, me straddling her on my knees, on a cushioned marble bench. She expertly takes my tunic off, and the skirt, tossing them aside. My under clothes fair less well; she shreds them as if the cotton was tissue paper. I’m nude, kneeling astride her, my thighs deliciously aware of both the cool breeze and the heat of her legs under me.

Her toga gown falls off as I undo the gold and ruby clasp on her shoulder, and I slowly, firmly, run my hands down, seeking, stroking, kneading…I hear her purr catch slightly, and lean forward to kiss her, responding with a heat of my own. Her hands, so strong yet so carefully gentle, slide up my thighs centimeter by centimeter, teasing me, and I moan again, softly, begging. They touch…and I arch, my lips still on my Muhmis’. The moments slip by; the party outside raucous and lively, the party inside, with just us two, intense, steamy…hot. 

“Ah, ah….ah, Gwendolyn!”

**

I nuzzle into the damp curve of Erin’s neck, holding her tightly as her shudders end and she goes limp against me, tasting her sweat, less sharp than a Draka’s, more so than a servus’. Then I shift her so that she’s sitting across my lap, holding her close and sighing.

“Mmmmm,” I say. “You know, I’ve got over four hundred years of experience with three species, and I don’t think it’s ever been much better.”

Erin laughs softly. “Well, I’ve got less than twelve years of experience, with one – no, that’s two now, isn’t it? – and I’d say the same thing. So there.”

The night breeze is slightly cool against our damp bare skins; I reach behind the bench to pick up the wrap-gown and pull it around both of us. I chuckle as I look out the window; there’s a low hedge outside on the ground floor, a few feet from the wall, and someone’s taking advantage of the space. Fun breaking out all over, I think. One of my estate saafn, Eva Bengitsson – I picked her and her husband up in Denmark, to manage the dairy herd here; about thirty, good-looking in a fresh outdoors way. The Draka is Karl Tomlins, he’s the son of my new neighbors Eric and Johann and all of fourteen years old, less a few months. 

The wench strips well, I think as he tosses her tunic over the hedge, then rips off the undergarments with a sweep that makes her squeak. Scandinavian build, gold haired, sturdy but with a pink-and-rose abundance. I haven’t ridden that pony yet, but perhaps I should take the time – she’s looking a bit stunned as Karl bears her down to the ground, but from the scent she’s reacting well to his pheromones, and what he’s doing with hands and mouth. She cries out in surprise then as her knees go back by her shoulders… Tsk. The impatience of youth. There’s an innocent lordliness to the way he grips and mounts her, though, and a charm to the simple vigorous pleasure he takes. From her cries, what’s she’s feeling is nine-tenths pleasure too, spiced with shock and surprise.

“Muhmis?” Erin whispers in my ear.

“Just a case of great minds thinking alike,” I say, and transfer the image of the heaving tangle to her transducer – too dark for human eyes, even if she could see out the window.

My saafn giggles a little. “I’m happy where I am,” she says. After a moment: “What were you and your grandson talking about, Muhmis?”

I growl a laugh and hug her breathless. “Scamp I said, and scamp I meant… no, it’s quite all right. I want you to know; you give good advice. Half a dozen things; the negotiations with Samothrace are going well... and Alexis is thinking of some constitutional changes.”

“You have a constitution?” The human sounds surprised.

“Well, we don’t death-duel over everything,” I say, amused. “More or less; much of it unwritten. You see, up until now, the interstellar colonies were the only places with Planetary Archons – Mars and the Moon had governors, Harmosts, chosen by the Archon and the Council. The other star systems were effectively independent. Now that communications are so much faster, Alexis would like to choose the planetary rulers himself.”

“Oh, wouldn’t he!” Erin says. “Wouldn’t he just.”

“Yes,” I nod. “There’s that. With that arrangement, he’d be the patron and all the planetary rulers his clients. Of course, he wouldn’t even be sounding me out if he didn’t have some backing from the Council and the general Draka public. At a guess, and from what I’ve been hearing from back on the Prime Line, there’s some sentiment for it because it would open up Earth/2 and /3 for faster settlement. There are only about twenty thousand Draka here, now. As it is, I’m getting more and more applications for land-grants. Wanting to be a Land-Holder is deeply embedded in our culture; it’s certainly an agreeable way to live.”

“Uhm… so if the Archon got his way, there would be a big land-rush here?” 

“Not immediately. He’s trying to sweeten the deal for me, confirming the 100-year appointment the Council gave me right after the Arrival. Not that he could alter it if he wanted to!”

“So you agreed?”

“No, I agreed to seriously consider it and that the argument had merits. Which it does, just not enough merits to fall in with it… Alexis has had his own way so long he sometimes forgets the Domination isn’t an autocracy. And I think it should stay decentralized. The universe is too big to be run from Archona. I’m getting in touch with the stellar colonies – there are four – and with Felice Vashon, of all people. We’ll all collect our supporters and clients back on the Prime Line, and quietly lean on him. Of course, I’ll commiserate with him, and do my best to ‘moderate’ their demands… politics. It can be fun, in a cerebral sort of way.”

There’s a cry from outside the window, loud enough for human ears to handle. Erin giggles again. “Someone’s having fun, and I don’t think much thought is involved at all.”

“I think Eva’s just discovering that the Ancestors designed some… male disadvantages… out of the successor species. Like your Yannan.”

I let the wrap slip down to my feet and touch her, precise light strokes and pinches at first, then hard kneading. Her response has a lovely suppleness to it, and I’ve learned my way around her over these years, quite thoroughly. “Now, where was I?”

“Well what did you have in mind?” she says, grinning at me, wriggling and gasping.

“Half a dozen things, starting with this,” I say, sliding her down to kneel on the pad of the wrap-gown, between my thighs. I spread my arms along the backrest of the bench and take her face gently but firmly between the soles of my feet; this isn’t something that most humans would find really practical, but drakensis joints and tendons have a wider range. 

“Serve me, like this. Then, I think – ah! – I’m going to make you faint dead away… yesss.”

**  
I wake in the darkness and for a moment, the dream still strong, I’m afraid to move. The curtains drawn around the bed make it dark in here, too, and I realize that I’m in my Muhmis’ bed. She carried me here after…the time in the gallery, when I could barely stand any more. I didn’t need to stand, here, or kneel, for that matter, I think, stretching. The memory of the dream, however, forces goose bumps to the surface, and I shiver violently. I want to be near Gwen, or Alice, or Jennifer…Gwen’s not in bed. It’s still warm, from where she was, but I can’t sense her in the bedroom.

Wrapping my robe around me, feet cold on the hardwood floors, I pad softly through her rooms, searching. The fear inside is too great to sit alone in the dark; I need to be close to her, somehow. I enter the study, where a small fire’s burning; the scent of cedar wood fills the room and soothes me a bit. Gwen’s sitting in her favorite armchair, eyes vacant. She must be using her transducer, I have time to think, and take one step back out the door when her eyes flick to me, and to awareness of here and now.

“Yes, sugar? What do you—what’s wrong?” Her voice becomes firmer, as I take another step out. “Stop, and come in. Another of your ‘seeing’ dreams, Erin? Come here, you’re shaking…” She holds a hand out, beckoning.

I walk swiftly to her side, and sink down to my knees, pressing my face against her thigh. Not necessarily correct protocol, but it’s close enough, I hope. “Muhmis, sorry…”

“Tell me. Look up here,” she commands, and I meet her leaf-green, direct gaze. “Another dream, Erin?”

“Not one of those, no. It was a dream of… of… things past. Things I don’t let myself think about, Gwen,” and my voice cracks. Damn it, why does this lump have to be so painful in my throat, making tears rise? I swallow. “Not one of the foretelling dreams, no.”

“You’re upset, very much so…come here, darlin’,” Gwen murmurs, lifting me into her lap like I was a kitten. I curl up, feeling safe, grounded, maybe, in the iron circle of her arms. “Can you sit here and be quiet a moment, while I finish my work? Then we’ll talk, I promise.”

“Yes, Muhmis. I’ll be quiet.” I rest my head against her bare shoulder, feeling its warmth, its solidity. My mind begins to go over the dream. In it… 

My mother’s holding my legs down, crooning, “Just tell Daddy you’ll be good, and won’t think those thoughts anymore. They’re sinful.”

Father’s voice, harsher, more vindictive, cuts her off. “She just needs some of the sin beaten out of her. Spare the rod, and spoil the child, the Good Book says.” There’s a whishing noise as the belt cuts through the air, wielded by a fanatical hand. The raw agony of it landing on legs, buttocks or back, already criss-crossed with numerous welts, sends the air whistling through my clenched teeth. I grip the bed covers in a white-knuckled death grip, and say nothing.

Again, and again…the words blending together with the blows, my mother’s whine, my father’s roar—cutting into me, leaving more than physical scars. Repent, you’re damned, you’re sick, you’re evil; why can’t you be like everyone else? Why are you doing this to us? You’re a pervert, a freak of nature. It’s against God’s word. Repent, say you are straight, and the beatings will stop. Act straight, and the beatings will stop. Be straight, and be saved unto the Lord.

I thought, those many identical nights of hell, that I’d die. That they’d kill me and dump me in the landfill, the river—how convenient; then they could be the grieving parents of the promising young high school coed. Murdered by some deviant, perhaps; such a shame, really. I swore, early on, that I’d never change my silence. I couldn’t—it was a lie if I did. Lies are sins, too, I thought; which is worse? It didn’t matter; after a while the beatings became reasons for more beatings. The cycle continued, out of control, until my best friend saw my legs one day in the gym. I was always so careful to dress out where no one could get a good look at my back, but the night before, the buckle of the belt had cut slashes into my shins.

“Oh, man—what’d happen to you? Have a run in with a lawnmower or something? Crazy man with a weed whacker?” Luann asked, as she sat down to tie her sneakers. I choked, realizing what she had seen. My silence continued, and she stood up, her face turning ashen. “Turn around, damn it.”

I did so, slowly, hating to show anyone… there was a shocked gasp of dismay, outrage, anger—and Luann turned me around again, hugging me harder than I had ever been held before. “My god, Erin, your poor back—who is it? Your dad?” A nod. “Does your mom…oh, hell, she’s such a bitch, she’s in on it too, isn’t she?” Another nod. Tears formed, against my will, and dripped steadily onto Luann’s bare, tanned shoulder. She stroked my hair, murmuring.

After a moment, she looked at me, our eyes level with each other. “You’re comin’ to stay with my folks. Period. We’ll let Papa figure out a legal way to keep you safe. They’ll kill you, sugar, if you stay with them. It’s about being gay, isn’t it?” I nodded, eyes down. “Damn it, girlfriend, you’re my best friend, and I don’t give a horse’s ass if you’re straight, gay, bi, or purple. You’re my friend.” Hand in hand, we left the locker room, oblivious to cat-calls and jokes. I stayed with her and her family for the last year and a half of high school, I remember. Her Papa sure did find some legalities, or something, I think, to keep Mother and Father at bay. The biggest problem was keeping Mamaw and Papaw, my father’s parents, from marching down to Savannah from Pine Hollow, Tennessee, with shotguns. The thought makes me grin, even now, remembering.

The dream remnants linger, and I think them over. They were trying to kill something in me, I realize, shifting slightly in Gwen’s lap. She purrs softly as she works, a hand absently stroking my back. I didn’t break for them; I never did. 

Yes, but you’ve broken so well for your Muhmis, the cold voice in the back of my mind whispers. You’ve broken for her, and you wouldn’t for your parents? How ironic. The voice stings me into protest, and thought. They never wanted me in the first place. My parents were trying to kill my soul; if my body died, that would have been a bonus, probably. As hard as she’s spanked me the few times she’s had to, it was nothing compared to his whippings. It didn’t leave scars that took years to heal. And she doesn’t enjoy it; he did. So did Mother. I pause, as the thought forms, taking shape, answering the voice. That’s it—the difference is that Gwen’s trying to tame my soul, not kill it; there’s a difference, damn it. 

I sit bolt upright, eyes wide. Gwen’s purr rumbles into a warning growl; not angry, more displeased or slightly bothered. I realize what I’ve done, and whisper, “Sorry.” I sink back against her, but this time I’m more relaxed, breathing more steadily. My eyes drift shut of their own accord, and I fall asleep, listening to my Muhmis’ contented, steady purring.

A few minutes later, I wake to fingers caressing my legs, from calves to hips. “Mmmhhh?” A yawn splits my mouth, and I cover it with a hand. “What time is it, Muhmis?”

“Late. Or early, depending on how you look at things. Work’s done, though. Tell me about the dream, my peach, if you want to.” She nuzzles against my neck, nipping lightly. Her hands hold me still as I squirm, giggling.

“How do you—ow! How do you expect me to tell you anything when you’re doing…you’re doing… ah…mmh…that…”

Later, sitting on the floor, leaning against her and watching the flickering pattern of light from the fireplace play over us, I tell her of the dream. She stiffens, and I turn to face her, alarmed. “Muhmis? Are you mad at me?”

“No. Not at you. But if I had known exactly how bad things were for you the day that woman came to pay a visit, in New York, she wouldn’t have left my presence alive. That makes me so damned angry, that a species could possibly treat their offspring to such… abuse,” Gwen says, in a deadly monotone. My skin goose bumps again, and I feel the hair on the back of my neck standing up. Ice seems to fill the pit of my stomach, and I’m suddenly very conscious of smells—our musk, my sweat, the stronger smell of Gwen’s, the brandy in the snifter near us…the cedar smoke from the fireplace. A faint tang of leather, from the books and the chairs in the room.

She realizes how spooked I’ve become, and hugs me tightly, rocking me back and forth, comforting. “Ssssaaa, my pretty. I’m not angry with you. Believe me. If I could alter those years for you, I would. But it’s left you with a core of strength; you’re a survivor, through and through. And now you have a chance to see that kind of behavior eradicated. It’s all right, Erin…I still accept you.”

My eyes widen; I hadn’t realized that I had subvocalized anything. “I…did I say that? Or have you deduced that?”

A chuckle in my ear. “Deduction, my dear. You are afraid, somehow, that I won’t like you and sell you, or give you away on a whim. Possibly because you had dysfunctional parents. But that’s not the case at all. You’re special to me; my favorite human, actually. Don’t let that go to your head, though; if it does, we’ll… discuss things. Understand?”

I nod, tears brimming. “But…”

“But?”

“If…” I sigh. Say it and get it over with, dammit. “I’m afraid, Gwen. I’m afraid I’ll get to like you so much, maybe even love you, if that’s possible, and then you’ll be like Luann, like Peter, like Ruthann… you’ll leave me here, all alone again. I’m not sure I could stand that.”

“There are no guarantees about life, darlin’. But I certainly plan on being around for a very long time indeed, as long as I can manage. Longer than you can live. That doesn’t mean I won’t be challenged to a duel tomorrow, have bad luck or poor timing, and die,” Gwen murmurs into my hair. I stiffen with fright. She strokes me, calmingly, and goes on:

“Little one, my sweet, listen. You are mine. All mine. Forever. Until the day you die. No one will take you away from me, ever. And I swear, as an Ingolfsson, that I’ll never just abandon you, walk off and leave you somewhere. That will never happen. You’re safe here; it makes me happy to give you the safety, the guidance, the protection… the tools to help make this place a better place to live, as well as the means to go places you’ve only dreamed of. And I enjoy you physically; you’re not as hard-edged and wild as Shawonda, nor as docile and giving as Dolores. You’re in between, and I enjoy that. I enjoy the tension between us sometimes. I also like your mind, your personality. You’re a fascinating little human. Do you understand me?”

“Uh-huh.” I wipe tears from my face.

“I’ve made provisions for you in my will; provisions for all the Household, actually. Most of you would go to Tamarindus; you would, in particular. Some of the others would go to relatives of mine, back on the Prime Line. You’re my brooder, as Alice is, and therefore… higher status than many of the others. You’d be treated well, believe me. But we don’t have to dwell on wills, and how the universe eventually kills everyone, do we? Even for a Draka, life’s too damn short to be miserable about its ending…” Gwen kisses me, long and hard, and then tosses me over her shoulder in a fireman’s carry. A slap on the fanny makes me yelp; her probing fingers make me arch and moan. 

“Come on, wench, time enough before a shower and breakfast… mmmh, so sweet; I think you’re quite ready, aren’t you?” She lays me on the bed, and climbs on top, fingers tracing delicate patterns of heat across my body, all over, and Muhmis laughs as I writhe in arousal, moaning. “Oh, yes, indeed…”

**  
“Good morning,” Alice says cheerfully to Erin and me, buttering a scone and adding strawberry jam. “Ariadne all fed, cobber? Marie-Claire said you’d be down in a minute while I was nursing May, but I was hungry.”

Erin nods and goes over to her, giving her a kiss. “We’re both eating for two, love.”

I’m taking breakfast alone but for some of my saafn, and the children at their table; the third day of the feast ended last night, and the old proverb says that guests and fish both start to stink about then… everyone’s gone except a few who managed to give themselves serious hangovers, which for a Draka isn’t easy at all. The new cats are looking cheerful too, cadging for handouts around us or giving the bird life thoughtful looks; I put down a dish and pour some of the fresh Jersey cream from the coffee service.

The breakfast room is bright and cheerful, French windows open on three sides to a blue sky and white clouds, air damp and just cool enough to start the day properly… although from the way her hand reaches for her second cup of strong black coffee, Jennifer doesn’t think so. I don’t think she’s really appreciating the dew that stars the roses outside, either.

“Drink water instead,” I say; humans dehydrate so easily. “Two full glasses, now.” She obeys, shuddering, then goes back to the coffee and an aspirin.

“Did I miss much?” Alice says archly, with the smug virtue of someone who’s had a full night’s sleep.

“Oh, yes. Great party.” Dianne and Tom say – almost simultaneously. They share a glance and laugh. Dianne goes on:

“I had a wonderful time, and I wasn’t even really a guest – it was more like being on the buffet table with an apple in my mouth. Scary to have no control at all, somebody else calling all the shots, but… exciting. I knew they weren’t going to hurt me, or take me away for good, soo…” She has what Erin calls a possum-in-a-tree grin, and Tom sighs agreement.

“Good attitude,” I say, taking a bite of the fried ham. Mavis seems to be on the job still; that woman is an absolute gem. I’m thinking of having my cook from Eponastead on the Prime Line relocated here, too. They could learn from each other. “Dianne, you’ll be having another announcement to make to the press, fairly soon.”

Everyone perks up. “You probably noticed that the Archon was here for the naming feast,” I say. “Some of what we discussed is confidential, but among other things, he thinks that we’ll soon have an agreement with the Samothracians; essentially, a ceasefire-in-place and an agreement not to poach on each other’s preserves. Including this world, of course. Dianne, draw up a program for gradually breaking the news to the human media here.”

I turn to Shawonda. “Any problems with the staff?”

“Nothing beyond what you predicted,” she says. “There was that one fight, but that’s not my department.” I nod; drakensis medicine is a specialized field, and she’s focused on humans and the closely-related servus in her post-Arrival training. It wasn’t really serious, anyway; a couple of broken limb bones and a collapsed lung. “I don’t know about the temporaries who ended up carted off, of course, but as far as the estate staff go there were some abrasions and bruises, and a fair number of sitting-down-careful-for-a-while syndrome, plus hangovers and jitters and I-can’t-believe-I-did-that. I don’t think there will be any trauma, much. I briefed everyone carefully beforehand and talked them through it.”

I nod. “The pheromones help there,” I say. “About the most effective thought-suspender and disinhibitor ever developed… Although in rare cases they can kick a human over the edge psychologically. And this place was a positive fog of pheromones.”

Henry comes in and gives me a list. I raise an eyebrow; if I were a private citizen, this might impact my credit account a fair bit… luckily, I’m ruler of the entire planet and it’s an accounting convenience, no more. Ruler of an entire planet where most of the resources are still in human hands and so subject to commandeering, too. On that scale, this is a fleabite.

“No more major parties soon, Muhmis?” he says, hope obvious in his voice.

“No,” I reply. “Tamarindus will be giving a naming feast for our baby that Josie is brooding, of course – the birth should be any day now -- but that’s her worry. You’ve done an absolutely splendid job this month, Henry, and I want you to know it’s appreciated. You’re getting a bonus, and you and Mary-Beth get a week on Abacos this Christmas.” He bows and walks off beaming. I go on: “Jenny?”

She looks up, eyes bloodshot but looking a little more sentient with coffee and breakfast in her. 

“Muhmis?” A shake of the head. “I can’t even remember what I did last night.”

“You turned in early last night,” Erin says. “Too much champagne, girlfriend.” Alice whispers something in her ear and they laugh together, heads touching. Jenny is bleary enough to miss the byplay.

“There are going to be more Draka coming through,” I go on to her. “Much as I might like to, I can’t keep Earth/2 my private playground forever.” Alexis made that very clear; and if I don’t want to turn public opinion back on the Prime Line completely against me, it’s well to heed the demand at least somewhat.

“Mmmm… how many?” she says. I can see her brain going into operation; a little sand in the gears, but it’s functioning. “Not the Oklahoma Land Rush, please. That’ll throw everything into chaos.”

“Not all that many; say a thousand a year. About half will be technical types, helping with the modernization. A substantial fraction of the others just want to settle here, some on estates.” My left hand is holding my coffee cup; my right takes in Gwendolyn Hall. “It’s traditional. I want you to figure out the least disruptive way of acquiring the necessary land and humans; set up an agency to handle it.”

“Oooh,” she rubs her temples. “Say a hundred Landholdings a year, averaging ten thousand acres each… that’s realistic?” I nod, and she goes on:

“Well, I suppose… there’s a lot of slack in the discretionary funds form the levy, we’ve been banking it…” She pauses for a moment. “No reason why the Archonate can’t sell bonds, either – Alan was saying you should, to sop up some of the extra funds floating around with taxes down so low. And there’s that asteroid project. We could use that for a cash-flow, or even better borrow against it. We’ll have to use Archonate eminent domain powers for the buyouts occasionally, I suppose – there’s always somebody stubborn – but we can afford to pay top dollar for the volume you’re talking about.”

“Good,” I say. “We’ll designate areas for settlement – easier all ‘round than just scattering Draka domains hither and yon. I’d suggest East Africa, the Argentina-southern Brazil area, southern England, central and southern Italy, and parts of France, and a few areas in Australia and the Far East to begin with.”

She scribbles notes. “OK, Muhmis, I’ll get a preliminary estimate on all those. Staffing may be a problem; are the Landholders just going to round people up? That would cause… disturbances.”

“A few humans will get… picked up… to be personal servants, but I want something more regular and less, mmmm, disruptive for the actual plantation labor forces. In Domination law unclaimed humans not in the service of the State are all fair game, but I can put limits on that. In the underdeveloped areas, there shouldn’t be any problem. For Europe and North America…”

I think for a moment: “You’ve been telling me how some of the modernization is causing unemployment,” I say. “Just point out that estate saafn get good living standards and generous allowances…. Oh, and they’ll be allowed exemption from the one-child policy, and get the best Domination medical treatment, too. There are seven billion people on this planet; I’m sure you can come up with fifty or sixty thousand a year who’d like a nice, secure life in the countryside doing farming, housework and crafts.”

“Hmmm. Fifty or sixty thousand per annum? That sounds doable,” she says. “Dianne, I’ll want to coordinate with your people at the Information Office. We’ll have to sell it so there isn’t too much shock or discontent, and we’ll need to start a recruitment campaign.” 

Dianne swallows a bite of toast and nods. “We could get some of the major papers and news services to do an article here in the Bluegrass, among the estates already set up,” she says. “Most of the people here seem pretty enthusiastic, and that reporter in Lexington did a story, I could get it syndicated, maybe have him do a broadcast feature. Hell, I’ll get Winona in on it too; she’s certainly gotten a lot of attention in Hollywood. And I could work through the back-to-the-land types.”

Erin is listening, although not hard enough to miss the platter of fried green tomatoes going by. Tom is helping himself to more back-bacon and scrambled eggs, and says thoughtfully:

“Dianne, I could have some input on that. I’ve got connections in the ruralist community; the Whole Earth Catalogue crowd. You might get a fair number of recruits that way, here in the States at least. This place would be a dream for a lot of them; none of the economic drawbacks and costs.”

“The three of you talk it over,” I say. “Jenny, you’re in charge of the overall effort, but find someone to delegate to before it cuts into your Finance Committee work too much; Dianne and Tom, you consult and find people to plug into the effort likewise. We’ll call it the Settlement Authority, and it’ll report to the Planetary Council of Directorates through Finance. Get back to me within two weeks with a costed plan.”

Good group, I think with satisfaction, peeling an orange. I look over to the children’s table; Patrick is waving to Chiron, and Vicki is looking at the centaur open-mouthed. Alexa checks with Marie-Claire – I’ve made abundantly clear who has final say on things like cleaned plates and washed hands – and runs over to me. Business drops out of the conversation; everyone here has had a hand in bringing the youngsters up, and there’s a general dispensation of hugs, kisses and hair-rufflings. Vicki is hanging back, a bit shy still, but she has a lovely smile.

“Can we go play with Chiron, mom?” Alexa asks. 

“Surely, darlin’,” I say. “Be back by lunch, though, and you know where you’re not allowed to go.” She nods; I’ve also made that clear, and my transducer will alert me and the Household security if they stray. “Take care of Patrick and Vicki, and be careful.”


	37. Epilogue

Epilogue

**  
I gaze down at the sleeping children, their tanned faces placid now, limbs sprawled askew. They can play together, laughing, wrestling, frolicking…innocent of status, really, innocent of all the crap we humans and Draka alike carry around in our heads. I shake mine, wondering at it all. Reaching down, I straighten Patrick’s legs and tuck a blanket around him. Smoothing back Alexandra’s curls, I kiss her softly on her forehead, and she murmurs something unintelligible, smiling. She curls into a ball; just like her mother, I think fondly, and cover her up as well. The blanket’ll end up kicked off, by her, before the night’s through, but she can start off covered up.

Prying a Draka Sky Warrior doll from Vicki’s grasp, she whimpers and I stroke her forehead, whispering, “Good night, sleep tight…shhhh…” She snuggles next to Alexandra and begins to snore, fast asleep. I tug the blanket over her, covering her and tucking it in, and step back, hands on hips. “All squared away, my hearties?”

No answer, so they’re all really asleep. Last week they fooled Marie Claire into believing that, and had a grand time playing in the dark until Alexandra tumped over the wooden box of blocks. The resulting crash woke everyone on the floor. Alexa wasn’t a happy little camper after her mama got through with her, even though I talked Gwen out of the spanking originally planned. Not being able to ride her ponies for a week was just as awful a punishment for the girl, and one that lasted longer. Did less damage, too, I think, smiling wryly, remembering my last spanking. I had trouble sitting for about a week. God, that was so long ago. I check on the infants, who are sleeping deeply, covered with the quilts I finished last week for them. Not as good as Mamaw’s quilts, but hey, I’m still learning.

“Marie Claire?” I stick my head into her room after knocking softly. “They’re all out, really out. I covered everyone up, pried toys out of hands, and checked on the babies. They should sleep through the night, although May might wake up teething.”

“If she does, Sera Erin, I’ll give her some of the gel that Sera Shawonda sent up last night. I still have some here. Thanks for checking on them for me!” She smiles brightly at me, putting her notebook down for a moment.

“How’re the studies coming? Ready for your first English lit. assignment?”

“Oh, I don’ know ‘bout that…I sure…I am sure I’ll be ready, though. I am studying very hard. Thanks, too, Sera, for giving me these moments when you put the children down for me…” Her corn-rowed head bobs, nodding toward the nursery. “This the only quiet time I has.”

“I know. And I love putting them to bed, listening to their stories, reading to them. You’re doing really well, you know; you completed the GED so fast! You’re getting there, kiddo! Hang in there. I’ll see you at breakfast, okay?”

“Yes, ma’am! Hey, Sera Erin?”

I stop, and turn around. “Hmm?”

“Would you read over one of my essays when I finish it? I will be done, perhaps, tomorrow night?” She blushes. “It’s pro’bly terrible…”

“No way—I’d be glad to look it over. Remember, I’m no English major myself. Comp tech here, courtesy of Uncle Sam…” We both laugh, remembering. “But I would be honored. Tomorrow night it is, then. Bye!”

“Bon soir!”

As I close her door over, almost shutting it, I see her turn back intently to her books. She’s been busting a gut to get into some of the classes being taught here at the Household, and she flew through her GED high school equivalency test. She’s quite bright, actually; Shawonda’s grooming her for a nurse, I do think. Marie Claire has the temperament and the smarts to do it, with a little encouragement. I thought she was going to faint dead away when Gwen gave her the gold pen and pencil set I had picked out, I smile. She was so honored…and Gwen was proud, too. She likes seeing us do well.

Walking down the hallway, I pause and wander into the dimly lit gallery. No one else here, I hope, I think to myself. I amble through, looking at the various pieces, pausing at some, passing by others with a blush. The one she did of me on the bed in New York still makes me turn red, but remembering the fun we had there does all sorts of things to me, I grin silently. I take a long look at the one of Patrick and myself reading, surrounded by characters from our favorite book, and sigh. Gwen really outdid herself there; almost… I stop, catching myself. Hmm. I was going to say, almost human. Gee, she really did do a good job, then. My feet lead me to one last painting, and I look up at it, silhouetted in a soft baby spotlight.

Peter’s lying along the white sand of the beach by Andros, his long black ponytail hanging over one shoulder, tip trailing in the sand. His tan merely highlights and emphasizes his beautiful body; muscled, lean, but not overdone. Classic swimmer’s build. Bright purple Speedo shorts don’t hide much; instead, they sort of bring your attention to his… assets. His merry blue eyes, so deeply blue sometimes they looked almost sapphire, stare out at me, and the smile on his face hints at something. You Mona Lisa look-a-like, I think fondly. You beautiful queen. God, I loved you. I still do. You’re my best friend, Peter. I miss you so much…

What would you think of all that’s happened since those first days we started working for IngolfTech? Remember how mysterious everything was? How we thought we’d peek around, and discover why? Man, did we ever. All the changes we went through, all the stress… and all the joys. We had fun, didn’t we? All the late night bull sessions, the shopping trips into Nassau. I liked shopping with you, Peter, ‘cause you knew to drop me at a museum or a bookstore… then come back for me an hour later or so. I could talk with you like no one else…

What were you thinking of, messing with Stan Phillips and his crew? They were loonies, and you believed them…look where it got them. Look where their ilk got you and Ruthann. That’s another reason I couldn’t ever work with them, dammit. So clumsy, so blind. If not blind, then terminally short-sighted. Why you? Why did it have to be you? You were so happy, you and Tom. He’s really not been the same since, either. Something’s broken in him, the same as in me. Ah, God, Peter…it should have been me. Not you. I miss you…

You’d be so proud of Patrick, and thrilled with May. She’s beautiful, too. Patrick looks like he got the best of both of us—your hair and build, my eyes and smile. He’ll be a heart-breaker. He misses you, too. He watches that vidcam recording I edited down from what Phillips gave me, over and over. He asks so many questions about you, too. You should see him riding on Chiron, or running with Alexandra… I wish you could, Peter. I wish you could…

Tears obscure my view of my best friend, and I curse, softly, vehemently.

A hand closes over my shoulder, and I curse rather more loudly, half-turning, eyes wide, when I realize it’s my Muhmis. It’s Gwen—my hands relax from fists, and my breath comes raggedly. Tears still trickle down my face, tickling as they obey gravity.

“Erin, sweet…” Her voice soft, gentle, soothing…her hands pull me to her, and I feel the incredible strength she has, carefully controlled for me. “My sweet one…all alone in the dark, crying. Shhh, now, it’s all right. I know how much you miss him. I do, too.”

“It just doesn’t… seem fair. I want him to be here, Gwen, I want him,” I sigh, against her chest. I feel the soft curves of her breasts under the walking blacks, and my heart thuds, despite the grief I feel now. Part of me wants her; part of me wants just to be held. Just held. My hands circle around her waist, gripping tightly.

“I know. Believe me, I know.” Gwen’s voice, steady and velvet soft, calms me. One of her long-fingered hands is stroking my hair while the other holds me to her. She turns me slightly so we’re both looking at the picture, and I look up at her tanned, aquiline face.

Leaf-green eyes, ancient and full of sympathy now, look back down at me. “I know about losing the ones you love, sweet Erin. That’s one of the hardest parts about being unaging. But you don’t have to be alone to think of him, or to cry. I’m here for you…”

And perhaps, just maybe, I’m here for you, I think to myself, as I see tears glisten in her eyes. “Gwen…” I reach up, stroke the tear track that’s angling down her cheek. “Gwendolyn…”

“We live and learn, my sweet. Years go by, and we live and learn.” Muhmis leans down, kissing first the salt from my cheeks, then my lips. My hands entwine themselves behind her head, and the moment goes on, into the night…

**  
Erin is asleep, her head and arms burrowed deep into the pillow, limbs tangled amid the crumpled sheets. Humans need so much sleep, I think. Their lives are so short, and they waste so much of them unconscious. Three or four hours are more than enough for me. It’s not even very late; less than an hour past midnight. The thronging ghosts in my mind have departed, leaving only memory and a little wistfulness.

I take her scent and watch the patterns of heat flow over her skin, smiling and holding a hand near her face for a moment to feel the rhythm of her long slow breaths. It’s a warm June night, and I have the windows open; there’s a light sheen of sweat on her skin, from the weather and the effort of our pleasuring. The manor can be climate-controlled, but I don’t like doing that unless it’s quite uncomfortable. Instead I watch the stars through the open window, sitting cross-legged with my hands resting on my knees.

My dear saafn Erin, I think, with a rush of affection. Her face is relaxed and open, almost childlike. I don’t know quite why I’ve become so attached to this one… it’s enough that I have. Erin is fun, simply put. So comforting and comfortable now, with just enough tension now and then to spice it. Endlessly fascinating. There are depths to her that I may never completely reach. The more I take and possess, the more I find; two centuries may not be enough. Hmmm. Perhaps we should alter the rejuvenation policy. It’s the most potent reward we have, and humans respond best to a mixture of reward and punishment… perhaps grant a certain number a year? Time enough to think about that. 

My darling Erin; she knows me so well now, but I doubt she can never know just how much it pleases me to own her, the soul-deep satisfaction of it. Even better now that she serves me willingly, from the heart. Mine goes out to her.

Smiling, I remember her at first – the seduction, then the horror and resistance when she found out the truth of what I was and how she’d be mine forever. It was a relief when she chose to submit and live; and then the slow sweet sensual feeling of breaking her will to mine, her soul accepting my grip on her and opening to me like a flower. How far we’ve come! The stages of it flit by; that time by Tahoe and the feel of her heaving in my grip; her face as she asked to become my brooder… tonight.

Perhaps I should carry her back to her room… then again, no, I think, checking through my transducer.

“Upsy-daisy, cobber,” Alice is saying to Jennifer. The New Yorker lifts her hips so that her friend can slide the shorts off. “Oh, pretty…”

I chuckle quietly as I watch their enjoyment of each other, then let my mind roam through the manor and the plantation, flitting from pickup to pickup. Horses stamp in stalls and paddocks, and cattle chew their cuds; a barn-cat prowls through the garden, and then recoils in bewildered horror as one of the genegeneered Persians spits “Go away!” The Percheron stallion snorts nervously, still shy of the unfamiliar environment; he’s a magnificent creature in his way, and he’ll sire a line of work-beasts for the estate. Sam located him for me, with some brewery company down in Florida. The blacksmith is sitting on a hay-bale near him, smoking and looking at the stars.

My saafn are mostly sleep after their day’s work, although I touch the surface of a guardian ghouloon patrolling the woods – he’s a little bored, but pleased about the raccoon he caught and devoured. De Lange is taking Billy-Bob in a tangled knot of limbs and pounding rut; Jane lies beside them, smiling, touching both as the Draka growls triumphant release and the human beneath him cries out in pleasure… Henry sits polishing silver in the parlor, sleeves rolled up and a bottle of beer beside him; Shawonda is snoring gently on the shoulder of her Haitian; Tom and Andri are sitting on a balcony, drinking lemonade with their feet on the balustrade, talking about their childhoods. Marie-Claire is still bent over her books… smart little wench, and she’s done well with the children. The children themselves are sleeping. 

“Sleep and grow, my darlings,” I whisper to my daughters, then glance back at Erin. Her children will serve mine… and lucky with luck, will share this special closeness.

I begin to stroke Erin down the line of her spine; the touch and the pheromones penetrate her sleep, making her stir and murmur my name. “Gwen…” Her eyes flutter open and she smiles, warm and drowsy. “Mmmm, Muhmis. You want?”

I answer her with a kiss, slow and deep, and roll onto her. The ancient dance begins…


End file.
